


Vesav, Act Two: Finding Our Bearings

by GryphonRampant



Series: Vesav [2]
Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: A loose novelization of the game, Canon-Typical Violence, Demi/pansexual male lead, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Jaal and Ryder are both the heroes of this story, Polynesian female lead, Slow Burn, mostly focused on action and character/relationship development, occasional canon divergence, with occasional nerdy tangents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 09:44:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 92,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17201195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GryphonRampant/pseuds/GryphonRampant
Summary: Continues the adventures of Masina Ryder and Jaal Ama Darav, as they work to bring their peoples (and themselves) into a closer bond. Together, they face new challenges as forces rise that threaten to blast their peoples' fragile alliance apart.Completed second act of a three-part work in progress.





	1. Building Bridges

Masina took in the colors of the Aya market, the textures, sounds, smells. Everywhere was the sound of water flowing, and the melodic sounds of conversations in Shelesh, too distant for her translator to decipher. Here and there she caught the sound of music playing cheerful melodies on unknown instruments. The breezes that wound through the market smelled of spices, perfumes, volcanic stone, gun oil, and the herbs and flowers that grew everywhere. Fruit as well--the container gardens were proper gardens, and she had spotted a worker or two carefully harvesting crops. For all it was an alien world in a new galaxy, it felt comfortable to her. Familiar. She was finding it hard not to feel at home here, at peace. To just take a moment, and--

Suvi let out an excited shout from deeper in the market. Masina shook herself out of her contemplations and hurried off in the science officer’s direction. _Better make sure she’s not started licking things again,_ she thought with a smile. _A Pathfinder’s work is never done._

They had been docked in the city for the better part of a week, since they arrived with the Moshae to wild acclaim. Paraan had opened the city to the Pathfinder team, granting them the same access as any angara on vesaal. Also, and far more significantly, the governor had proposed an alliance between her people and the Initiative, the details of which were still a work in progress. The angara had already gone through days of deliberations to elect an ambassador and were finally closing in on a few candidates. Masina had observed some of the speeches; angaran politics seemed refreshingly straightforward compared with those leading the Nexus.

The Moshae was still recovering from her ordeal; Masina had encouraged her to prioritize rest. The vault and all its secrets weren’t going anywhere, and for now, neither was the Pathfinder. She had agreed to stay onworld until the Tempest could escort the new angaran ambassador and their entourage to the Nexus. Now, she was doing her best to use that time responsibly, to further cement this alliance in a dozen little ways.

Voices followed Masina wherever she wandered in the city. Angara weren’t shy about being overheard, and they had so, _so_ many opinions, about her, about everything.

“Its head looks different today. Are you sure that’s the same one?”

“She, not it,” another replied. “She’s wearing a different garment on her head today, that’s all. One with a knot in the back, instead of a tassel.”

“I heard it’s not a hat at all,” a third speaker added, “that they grow that silky stuff out of their skin.”

“Then, are all of its—er, _her--_ garments…attached?” the first speaker asked.

“Maybe,” the second speaker replied. “They _are_ aliens, after all. Who knows how strange they might be.”

She had put her hair up in a military-style bun today, in an attempt to make some effort at looking the part of Pathfinder. Amused by the futility of that effort, she moved on, until she was out of earshot of that group of onlookers. There would be more comments. There always were.

“I wonder what they eat.”

“How quickly do they reproduce, will we be overrun?”

“Hey look, another human.”

“They’re rather drab, aren’t they? I could do with more of the blue ones though.”

She smirked. _Everyone loves asari._

She had seen fewer children in evidence here than Daar Techiix. People were still wary of the new aliens. But there were more every day.

She and Suvi had agreed to spend the morning at the market, exploring, scanning, making connections. Vetra was nearby, working on her own trade deals: talking with the armor and tech merchants that supplied additional wares for the soldiers at the nearby Resistance headquarters. Ryder had encouraged the crew to not wander into residential areas just yet. They stayed close to the city’s leadership hub, for the comfort of the citizenry and to ensure none of her crew became lost. The main weapons vendor at this market had utterly refused to even consider trading with aliens, and it seemed Vetra and the armorer were discussing items as much to show support for the alliance as to make any sort of deal.

Suvi called her over to the source of her excitement: a stall selling fresh produce. The vendor, Felaan was happily pointing out examples of the plants each of her fruits grow on, in the containers nearby.

“You see the little fruits on the vines above us? They’re paripo. Here, this is what they look like when they’re ripe,” Felaan said, hefting a large, oblong fruit to show Suvi.

“I’m surprised you’re the only one selling produce, with how much I see growing everywhere,” Masina commented, as she came to stand beside Suvi.

“ _Vesoan_ , good to see you. Most of our harvest goes into the production of nutrient paste, to make sure there’s always enough food to go around. Fresh fruit is a rare treat, very expensive, to be shared at special occasions.”

“If it’s so rare,” Masina commented, “I’m amazed it isn’t stolen off the plant growing out here in the open.”

Felaan appeared appalled by the thought. “How could anyone enjoy the fruit, knowing they’d taken it from the rest of us?”

“Ryder!” Suvi exclaimed, appearing to have just noticed the Pathfinder had joined her, “I’ve been asking about the soil pH and mineral requirements—I think we could grow these!” She turned back to the vendor. “Felaan, do you mind if she takes some scans? Her scanner is a bit stronger than mine.”

Felaan agreed. In addition to the sweet-smelling paripo were wrinkly green elmohk orbs, which carried an almost chemical smell; quilloa, which looked something between a berry and a cluster of grain and contained a staggering amount of natural stimulant; and a fruit called paahni that eerily resembled an earth kiwano, if kiwanos could grow larger than a human head. The fruits all scanned as more-or-less edible, though the elmohk would probably need to be roasted for humans to digest it. Felaan offered to send one of each to the Tempest, as a gift. “You’ve certainly given us a lot to celebrate,” she told them, when Ryder tried to protest that it was far too generous. She directed them to speak with Roaan Aabel about food processing techniques, how to stretch a harvest. The two humans left with gratitude.

Traveling with Suvi set things at a leisurely pace. The eager young scientist was always finding some new plant or pebble to stop and scan. It was a relief, and a bit of a guilty pleasure, to just take things slow for a moment, after all that had happened. Masina used the time to observe the people around her, doing her best at reading their body language, trying to learn the rhythms of everyday angaran life. The debaters were back in the speaking circle, discussing who would be most suited to serving in the ambassador’s entourage. White-freckled elders basked on the benches that lined the walkways. They passed a few romantic couples making out in plain sight—and the other angara passing by took no more notice than if the couples had been reading on their omni-tools. _Interesting to see they also kiss. That makes at least four known species that use the gesture._

Because the city was built to flow with the land, it was full of its own eccentricities of layout. Popup gardens, hidden shortcuts, side tracks, staircases up or down built into the rock. She prayed this place never faced invasion, but if it did, invading ground troops would be hard-pressed to maintain a secure front; all those side trails would make it very easy for angaran defenders to slip around and flank. Aya was at once both utterly beautiful and sturdily practical.

“They’ve truly created something incredible here, haven’t they?” Masina said.

“We have so much to learn from them,” Suvi agreed.

***

Masina’s face went through a series of acrobatics as she struggled to swallow the nutrient paste.

“So, how is it, Ryder?” Suvi asked eagerly.

Patches of the stuff stuck to the roof of her mouth in thick chunks. “There’s—” she coughed, “a lot going on, flavor-wise. Ehkm.” After a few more moments spent convincing the paste to go down, she continued “Like a … sort of a mango-kale smoothie, but with bean dip mixed in. Here.” She passed the small sample flask to Suvi, who eagerly tried a swig, resulting in a similar facial journey as she coughed the paste down.

Roaan, the tavetaan proprietor, was watching the aliens with great amusement.

“So what’s in it?” Masina asked, handing the mostly-empty flask back to him.

“Whatever we have, however we can stretch it, he replied. “Different batches have different compositions, depending on what’s in season. Mostly fruit and vegetable matter. If you’re back for the holiday next month, come by and try a batch with fresh vrajkyn.”

“Vrah... Vraah-ja-kin?”

“A sort of…lava beetle.” Roaan explained. “We harvest them, thin their numbers every few seasons, so they don’t crowd themselves out and start looking for heat sources in the city to feed off of. Even processed meat is a bit of a treat here. Almost no meat animals are raised on Aya.”

“You’re mostly vegetarians?”

Roaan shrugged. “It’s cultural or philosophical to some people, but overall it’s a question of efficiency. You can feed three children for what one karkyn eats, and you get to keep the children.” He offered her a small sample of paste with beetle in it. It wasn’t half bad, though the texture was still bizarre.

Her scans of the nutrient pastes’ composition showed they were clearly highly designed for angaran nutritional needs. _The nutrient profiles across the different pastes are very similar: all safe for consumption, a bit low in sugars and carbs for human needs, but high in protein and incredibly rich in micronutrients. I wonder if they offset caloric needs with sunlight absorption_ , she mused. _Handy, being able to eat sunlight._

Roaan gifted them with several samples and expressed interest in providing them with help stretching out food supplies. “We stole most of this technology from the kett, made it work for us. It’s only fair we should share it with those who fight alongside us.”

 _More angaran generosity_ , she thought, watching Roaan prepare a satchel of containers for Suvi to bring back to the Tempest. _We’ll need to make sure the Initiative reciprocates and doesn’t take advantage of their hospitality. SAM, can you sketch out some sort of exchange, maybe with Nexus hydroponics? Gene samples, synthesized seeds of crops brought from the Milky Way, stuff like that in exchange for angaran crop samples and preparation techniques_.

“Thank you, Roaan,” Suvi said, accepting the satchel. “I can’t wait to get these under a microscope. Ryder, are you coming with me?”

“I have a few more things to take care of, Suvi. I’ll see you back on the ship.”

As she passed through the tavetaan, she spotted a familiar scarred mantle and blue rofjinn. Jaal was facing away from her, seated in the middle of a cluster of angaran women. Each one had an arm around him or a hand on his shoulder.

 _Admirers?_ she wondered. She could only imagine what they were saying about Jaal. ‘ _Dashing hero bravely befriends unknown aliens to save beloved badass science grandma, returns to Aya in triumph.’ That’s bound to attract some attention. And he certainly deserves some admiration. We never could have come this far without him._

One of the women beside Jaal, her blue skin marked with black facial paintings, looked up and caught Masina’s stare. The angara’s gaze was so intense, so assessing and fiercely protective, that Masina could not help but look away. The Pathfinder hurriedly remembered she had somewhere else to be.

***

Jaal noticed his true mother staring across the tavetaan with her sniper’s gaze. “Sahuna, what do you see?”

“One of your alien companions was studying us,” she answered, her gaze still sharply focused.

Jaal turned within the embrace of his mothers to see Ryder’s retreating form, headed in the direction of Resistance HQ and the Repository. “That’s the Pathfinder.”

Feladyr, his eldest mother, leaned past him to have a look at Ryder. “She doesn’t seem so tough,” the woman who had taught him the basics of tactics said matter-of-factly. “I thought an alien leader would look more intimidating. I’m surprised she can hold her own against the kett.”

“Forget the alien—you have returned to us! And brought the Moshae home as well. This is what matters.” This was said by Vaasana, youngest of his mothers. It was she who had instructed him as a child in the basics of writing, and given him his first tools to turn words into art. She clasped his hand in hers. “Jaal, I am so proud of you.”

“Yes, but I am prouder!” said Teliin, littermate to Sahuna, who sat with an arm wrapped around him, her field broadcasting her supportive confidence in him to anyone who happened to be in range. Tall and lanky, Teliin was a master engineer. She had taken over his mechanical tutelage after his father had been lost. Possessing a patience that bordered on stubbornness, she had insisted that he be given the time to keep trying to put things back together that he had taken apart, until he was successful. Even when it was disruptive. Even when it meant her own quarters went without chilled water for half a season.

“After all this, you’ll be able to get whatever position you ask for, I’d bet. You’re a credit to the family name,” said Gehana, possibly the loudest of his mothers, who was working to master oversight of the many complex connections of the family. She was, and had always been, a notorious matchmaker. The pattern of her field became an unsubtle nudge-nudge, as her smile widened. “This act of heroism will be just what you needed to find a partner, yes?”

Jaal sent a pulse of loving exasperation, and a flurry of laughter and bioelectric emotions flowed through their gathering. Some patterns were simple, straightforward emotions, others more complex, speaking without words: _exasperation, pride, trust, concern, long-standing annoyance, so aged as to become a form of amusement, gentle ribbing, assent to Gehana’s mild impatience._

 _Fear for his safety, reassuring herself with a proverb-concept:_ _It is in the longest night, as we hunger for the sun, that we may see the most distant stars._

Sahuna cut across with a strong pulse of her own. _Now it’s my turn._ She sat back down next to him, as Teliin stepped away to make room. Rather quietly, and with concern, she asked: “Jaal, is the adventure all you’d hoped? And the aliens… Are they kind? I worry.”

“Yes, _vaasavaan_ , and more,” he replied with confidence. “You would like it too.”

From Sahuna came a pulse of curiosity, strong and with a lingering desire to be reassured. It was echoed through the fields of the others. _Tell us more._

He chuckled warmly, adjusting himself to be better heard and felt by all of them.

“At the start, I did not know what to think, but now…” he smiled.

He proceeded to tell them all about his travels so far, and the strange, flawed, admirable, and sometimes delightful beings that had accompanied him.

_***_

Masina strode through the cavernous halls of Resistance Headquarters. Mixed opinions were apparent here as well, from friendly greetings to deeply hostile stares. She tried to put it out of her mind, focusing on the task at hand.

“Cora, where am I headed?” she commed.

“Observation platform three, near the quartermaster.” Cora replied.

“ _Masina, you appear stressed.”_ SAM noted.

 _Meeting with Cora… still feel a little apprehensive about it. Which is a shame--normally I’m all about having more biotic friends, swap stories and techniques. Being groomed as Alek’s second, and then passed over in favor of Alek’s less qualified child, has really put a damper on the whole friendship thing_.

SAM helpfully highlighted the curving assemblies of circles that marked the platform number. _“Acknowledged, Pathfinder. I will endeavor to be of any possible assistance.”_

“Ryder,” Cora greeted her from the observation railing, “Evfra gave us clearance to observe and record some Resistance training maneuvers.”

“Glad you decided to take him up on it,” Masina replied, joining her on the overlook. “You’ve got the most interspecies field experience of any of us besides Drack.”

“And where is the big guy?” Cora asked, glancing around. “He’s supposed to be here too.”

“Lexi grounded him and Liam for testing out the local booze without getting clearance from her first. She’s keeping them under observation.”

“Are they alright?”

“They’re fine,” Masina replied, gesturing dismissively. “Lexi’s just trying to make a point.”

In the training grounds below, a new group of Resistance recruits moved in. A series of holograms flickered into existence, simulating a small kett encampment, and the angara moved to engage.

“So,” she asked Cora, as the first shots were fired below. “You’ve been here all morning, right? When you watch them, what do you see?”

“They move completely differently than any combat units I’ve seen from the Milky Way,” Cora answered after a moment. “They’re…each incredibly independent, but also connected. They don’t automatically fall into step together, like turians or krogan--or even humans in some circumstances. They’re coordinating _consciously_ , always checking up on each other.”

“I think I’m starting to pick up on when EM communications cross the battlefield,” Cora continued. She gestured to a scattered group of angara below. “Watch. They seem chaotic, disorganized, right? Like everybody just showed up for themselves. Now… There! There’s some sort of group consensus going on there. They have these fast, united reactions, coordinating on a level we can’t naturally perceive.”

“I’ve read about asari huntresses who could do something similar, by reading changes in their sisters’ biotic fields, but they had to train for centuries together to be at the level even green recruits have here. It lets them collaborate to build new strategies on the fly, which makes for highly adaptive squads. They’d be terrible soldiers in a traditional army, but they might be the most inclined for guerilla warfare of any people I’ve seen.”

Masina peered closer, trying to pick out the moments Cora was referring to. _Pretty sure I’m only seeing the results. SAM, can you give me an edge here? Let me eavesdrop on what’s going on?_

“ _Negative, Pathfinder. To attempt to tune into the angaran bioelectric communication signals would require an impractical level of enhancement and alteration to your equipment, or even more drastic changes to your physiology, and would still only be viable at close range.”_

_Aw, SAM—no suggestions at all?_

“ _I continue to collect and collate data on angaran movement patterns, to assist you in anticipating their movements for better team coordination. I cannot, however, ‘eavesdrop’.”_

 _Damn._ she thought back wryly. _How am I ever going to get all the juicy gossip about Jaal and those ladies at the tavetaan if I don’t have alien-AI symbiont eavesdropping powers?_

SAM paused for a moment—either in exasperation or a sincere effort to answer her question, she couldn’t tell. _“I suggest you ask him.”_

“Talking with SAM?” Cora asked.

“Yeah.”

“How…are things going, with you and SAM?”

She smiled. “Oh, you know, he’s keeping me honest.” She softened her tone. “SAM told me you had one of his partitions with you, for a while.”

“Yeah, that’s right. If you’d told me back in my days with the Daughters that I’d one day miss having an AI in my head providing commentary…” She shook her head.

A silence hung uneasily between them, a twisting, oily thing that left a poor taste on the tongue and a worry in the stomach, as the Pathfinder stood beside the soldier who had been trained and groomed for the position.

 _There’s probably a really great, professional, charismatic way to resolve this,_ she thought. _Wish I knew what it was. But when in doubt, guess I’ll go for my old standby: just keep muddling._

“Cora…” she started, pausing awkwardly as she tried to fit the right words together. “SAM, the Pathfinder title, all this… I didn’t mean to take it all out from under you.”

“Alek made his decision, and I’ll respect it,” Cora said, rather mechanically—like it was something she’d told herself so many times the words weren’t quite real to her anymore.

“But,” Masina hissed, “it’s _bullshit_.”

Cora started, turning away from the maneuvers below to look at her.

Masina plowed on. “Cora, I know you trained for this, worked for this, not me. It’s not—it’s _never_ been fair to you for me to have this. It’s a huge fucking injustice, and you don’t have to pretend it’s not. And…I want you to know I’m sorry. With everything that’s happened, I don’t think I ever stopped to say that. So…thanks, for sticking with me. Even though it’s gotta suck sometimes. Even when I don’t have any idea of what I’m doing. Especially then, actually.”

Masina was keenly aware of Cora staring at her, expression managing to betray some surprise while still being aggressively stern. Cora straightened, seeming to consider Masina as her surprise at the outburst faded.

“Thank you, Ryder,” Cora finally said. Her tone was firm, clearly implying she wished to stop talking about the subject. But also… sincere. More than Masina had really expected.

“Yeah.” Masina coughed, as the silence following Cora’s response became uncomfortable. “So, um--what you were saying about…sort of a democratic fighting style? I was picking up on some of that back on Voeld, I think. They don’t really use leaders so much as… consultants, right? They follow whoever has the best plan, or the strongest personality.”

Cora nodded, turning back to the fight below. “It fits their command structure. It’s all loose, semi-independent cells. Seems like Evfra doesn’t command blind followers. He gathers respect and others choose to coordinate with him.”

“It would certainly explain how Jaal so easily volunteered himself to join us, and then to stay on as an angaran envoy to the Tempest.” Masina mimicked the exchange from the docks: “‘I need to remain with the Pathfinder.’ ‘I see the benefit, permission granted.’ I expected far more of a challenge, or at the very least a discussion.”

“It was a pleasant surprise to hear he’s staying on,” Cora replied. “Having an angara on the squad will certainly help with further relations. But, be aware, Ryder: if one of our missions goes sideways, and he’s KIA under our watch, it wouldn’t just be a blow to the team—it could have repercussions for this whole alliance.” She shook her head slightly. “This sort of thing was easier in Talesin’s Daughters. Relations with asari were already strong and stable. Plus, I was the baby of the group by at least a century, which made the rest of the squad inclined to keep me out of the worst of things.”

“Is that part of why you left them and joined the Initiative? To get out from under asari mothering?” Masina wondered aloud, her mouth working a little faster than her brain.

“I’d hope not,” Cora said with some affront. “I carry that training with me every day.”

“Right, of course… I, uh, was able to meet up with one of the medical staff here,” Masina mentioned, trying to pull the conversation back on track. “I was able to negotiate for some additional angaran medical supplies, a few first aid manuals and one basic anatomy text. SAM’s already chewed through the translation verification for us, so it’s good to go. It won’t be enough to teach Lexi to do any complicated procedures if Jaal has a major injury, just enough to stabilize him until we can get him to an angaran medical facility. It’s not quite the peace of mind I’d prefer, but I can’t blame the angara for wanting to keep a few secrets to themselves, especially…”

“Especially in light of recent discoveries,” Cora finished for her, not unkindly. “What’d they get in return?”

“I gave them a few samples of medi-gel and explained what it is,” Masina explained. “I’m not sure it was a fair trade,” she admitted. “I’m expecting a lecture for giving away such a valuable technology of ours for so little. The medi-gel will need to be adapted to work with their physiology, but if we can get angaran and Nexus techs working together on it, it could really help with relations _and_ the war effort.”

“I also approved a request from Kallo to share our pre-launch scans of the Heleus cluster with a group called the _voneraan._ They’re something like angaran astronavigators. He’s been working with them to develop more safe routes through our friend the hellcloud.”

“And,” she continued, “I worked out a trade with Avela: Repository field supplies for us and APEX if we’ll check out some suspected angaran archaeological sites during our surveys. We’re technically classed as a Repository research team now.” She smiled down at her hands, laced before her on the railing. “It’s funny, back before we left, I would have given half my amp to be the lead on something like this. Now I’m doing it as a side job.”

“I wasn’t sure how all this would play out,” Cora said, “but I’ve gotta admit… you’ve gotten a lot done, and without much time or resources.” Cora granted her a small, approving smile. “When we first found this place, I was pretty skeptical. It seemed like you fell ass-backwards into diplomacy here.”

“You say that like I didn’t.”

“But you followed through, and now we’re looking at one of the best first contact outcomes in the history of humanity.”

“Out of what, two? Three if you count running into the kett on Seven?” Masina made a dismissive gesture. “I still wonder how Alek would have handled first contact.”

“His hard-headed, because-I-say-so attitude wouldn’t have gone over well. It would have depended on how good of a speech he pulled out.” Cora paused, her expression approving, and amused. “Your… _untested earnestness_ was probably exactly what we needed here”

“Thanks, Cora,” she smirked. “I appreciate the vote of optimism.”

“I’m not quite to betting my retirement on you yet, but you’re getting there,” Cora said.

After observing a few more training exercises, the two moved on to meet with the Resistance quartermaster. The angaran woman regarded them frank skepticism. “Evfra’s endorsed you and told me to open my stock to _aliens_.” She paused, lips pursed. “I don’t like it, but I’ve never known it to be smart to disregard our _kaaroan_. My stock is open to you—Just please don’t blow up anything, okay?

“We’ll do our best,” Masina replied. As the quartermaster turned away, she subvocalized, _SAM, translation on the word she used for Evfra?_

“ _Unclear. I am attempting to extrapolate.”_ SAM paused. _“There was a circular structure to the phrase in Shelesh, possibly a proverb. A more literal translation of her statement might be: ‘Poor guidance in war to disregard one’s war guide.’ I believe it might have been a humorous reference beyond my current capabilities to interpret.”_

She put further contemplation of angaran language and the limitations of translation programs aside as the quartermaster brought out a rifle nearly the span of both her arms. The gun was a white lance of clear, flowing lines “One shot from this can drop anything short of an eiroch,” the quartermaster explained, handing the rifle over for their examination.

A small patch of script ran along one side, naming the model. “ _Isharay_ ,” she read aloud. “That’s a farewell too, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Last thing our enemies will ever hear. Polite to make it a goodbye.”

Masina was impressed.

“It’s a little big for our needs,” Cora commented.

The quartermaster’s face went through a range of expressions in response. She seemed to be conflicted, not wanting to do too much for the aliens, but also wanting to prove the worth and value of angaran weaponry.

Pride in her people appeared to win out, as she snatched back the sniper rifle and handed them another gun to examine. This one was much smaller, but no less elegant: clearly the angaran interpretation of a heavy pistol.

“This one is called _Ushior._ ‘Resonance.’ It’s a close-quarters sidearm, light enough for even little creatures like you. The name refers to how every action creates a cascade of effects, to remind us to be thoughtful with every shot, to move us all towards a better tomorrow. I’ll open up the practice range for you. Try it out.”

***

Her hands still tingling from the recoil of angaran weaponry, Masina headed vaguely back in the direction of the Tempest.

She found herself reflecting on her xenostudies courses and the variables that often occur with first contact across species, or disparate groups within species. Option one was technological and cultural renaissance as new ideas were shared between groups. You didn’t even need to transfer the tech in its finished form--often the idea of a piece of technology, and confirmation of its usefulness, was all that was needed. _Sequoyah_ , she thought, drawing on her studies of anthropology, _he didn’t need to have a formal education on western alphabets or an apprenticeship on the mechanics of printing presses to create the Cherokee alphabet and begin printing newspapers in it. All he needed was a little, mostly second-hand exposure to the concepts of alphabets, printing presses, and newspapers._

The other result of first contact was a battle for dominance between two cultures. W _hich is why there are no newspapers in Sequoyah’s alphabet today._

The angara had received a slow, steady, and one-sided technological transfer from the remnant. They had received oppression from the kett, but had adapted at least some kett technology to meet their needs, as Jaal’s rifle and Roaan's nutrient paste could attest. _Hopefully contact with the Initiative will end up being mutually beneficial for both sides… but only time will tell._

 _Hell, maybe with the knowledge of what_ _**can be** _ _that we brought, the angara will be able to reinvent the mass relay._

“Masina.”

She looked up at the sound of her name. Jaal had called to her. He gestured to the space beside him on the balcony, his expression that subtle little smile again. “Take a break, and enjoy the view with me.”

A dozen possible tasks flared up in her mind, each seeming weaker and less important than the last _. A Pathfinder’s work is never done, but…_ She found herself drawn to stand beside him, to take in the land and sky unfolding before them, the warmth, the scents.

“So… what do you think?” he asked.

“It’s strange,” she answered, rather too quickly.

“You find it unpleasant?”

“No, not that kind of strange. It’s…” She paused, gesturing vaguely, as if trying to conjure the words out of the air. She stopped, and really thought about how the world felt to her. For a moment at least, all the buzzing concerns of Pathfinding were pushed aside.

She remembered how she had walked across broad white boardwalks under the soft curving canopies of solar collectors, along the tops of the waterfalls rife with botanical abundance, the air sweet with the scent of carefully cultivated flowers and herbs. An angara knelt along the side of the boardwalk, working on something underneath: hydroelectric generators, quietly spinning away in the river’s current beneath the path. The angara constructed their architecture to flow with the landscape; it spoke of a commitment to collaboration, not conflict, with the natural world. Form and function blended together. It was an incredible place, but there was more to it than that.

 _The waterfall smell, the flowers, wet lava rock like the stream beside grandmother’s home, telling me I am home, that I shall turn around and see my cousins coming to greet me, but then the sulfur blows in, and perfumes from the market, and I’m on a new world._ “It is a charming, familiar sort of strange. Like... meeting an old friend for the first time. I... That probably doesn’t make any sense, does it?”

“I think it does.” He gave her a little smile. “We take turns living here. You can see why.”

“You seem content here. Relaxed.”

“I am. It’s nice of you to notice.”

“I like to notice.” She turned back to the view. “After everything we’ve gone through, it does my heart good to see you happy.”

He smiled wider. “I love the air here. The breeze. And one day, we’ll have more places like this—I have faith.”

“We’ll make it happen—together.”

“I know.”

They stood in companionable silence for a while, enjoying the breeze, the warmth of the sun, watching the storms swirl beyond what must be the border of the vault’s area of effect. Eventually, she spoke.

“I saw you at the tavetaan. Seems like someone’s very popular.”

“Ah, yes. My mothers. They came a long way to see me today. It is…a lot to explain, our adventures. They worried a great deal about what my fate would be among aliens.”

“Those women were your mothers? All of them?” Masina asked incredulously.

“Yes,” Jaal replied, seeming surprised by her confusion. “I have five.”

“Ah,” Masina said, not understanding at all. “How does that, um… how does that work exactly?”

Jaal explained that angara raise their children communally with those they are closest to.

“So all those women helped raise you, thus they’re your mothers.”

“Yes.”

“Got it. So, what about the rest of your family? You have a partner here? Kids? A bunch of little Jaal-lings running around?”

Her phrasing got another small smile from him. “No, no children. No partner, either, not… for a long time.” He told her of Allia, a painful memory he ripped open without hesitation. He mentioned he mourned for…a long time.

Her heart went out to him. The big guy deserved so much better than to be cast aside for someone shinier.

“My mothers often remind me that my littermates have all found partners, except for me.”

“Another reason for your mothers to worry about you being on an alien ship, huh? No eligible angara to woo.”

That got a chuckle from him. “Hm. I would probably be too distracted to notice them, with aliens so intriguing as yourself.”

That made her pause a beat, trying to figure out if she should be flattered, if he was flirting. _No possible way I’m that lucky,_ she thought, _just a cultural misunderstanding_. She opted to err on the side of self-depreciation. “We’re that odd, huh?”

“Yes” he said, with humor filling his tone as well.

Jaal casually mentioned teaching Liam a song, leading to the inadvertent wedding of Kallo and Suvi. Masina was _almost_ sure he was messing with her.

He asked if she had much family waiting for her on the Nexus.

“One brother,” she replied. She nearly giggled at his baffled expression. “Yes, just one!”

“I’m sure he’ll be very pleased to see you,” Jaal mused, “and so _proud_ of what you’ve accomplished.”

“Kinda… he’s—” Masina paused, remembering angaran taboos about illness, unsure of what was appropriate to mention. “His cryo pod was damaged from our ship impacting the Scourge. We’re not sure when he’s going to wake up.”

“You seem, very alone. I am sorry,” Jaal said, his voice heavy with sincerity.

“Yeah, well… This random collection of Tempest oddballs can feel like family sometimes.”

“Yeah,” he agreed softly. “I’ve… never really felt I had a purpose—but now, I do.

“What about the Resistance?” she asked, surprised. “You never had a place here?”

“My place in the Resistance is…not what I’d like. I have…helped us all carry on, sure…But, _you_ are going to do something important, Ryder. I feel it. This is where I should be.”

“I’m glad you decided to stay. We…I would have really missed you.”

“Because of my skill and knowledge?” he asked.

“Uh… Well yeah, but… I mean…”

“Because,” he stated more firmly, with that soft smile, “you enjoy spending time with me as much as I do with you.”

“You do?!”

“You’re fascinating.” He chuckled softly. “So bold…and compassionate, and… _odd_.”

“Aw, thanks.”

“And I mean it.”

 


	2. Charting a Course

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everyone! Have a bonus post, because this chapter is short and Friday's chapter is self-indulgent pseudoscience.

Jaal stood before the doors of the Aya vault, deep below the planet's surface, at the side of the Pathfinder and Moshae Sjefa. The three of them were accompanied by the best of the Moshae’s current students, Avela foremost among them. Aya was precious and delicate, and any disruption of the vault, even accidentally, could put all his people had worked for in peril. Truly, it was a great privilege to stand here, among the most brilliant and trustworthy angaran minds, even if it was only at Ryder’s insistence.

The Moshae and the Pathfinder had spoken extensively during the journey down here. Their relationship had improved greatly since that explosive day on the Tempest, as they each came to understand each other, and learned that their similarities might well outnumber their differences.

The Moshae, Ryder had told him, reminded her of the many teachers she had worked under during her own years of studies. The vision of Ryder spending so long at peace, with no concerns in her life but to learn--it created a hunger in him for such a time to come to Heleus. It also inspired not a small amount of shame at how poor and haphazard his own education must seem in comparison.

He had told his mothers how greatly he admired Ryder. Of course he admired her--she was a hero, and seemed to be destined to grow into a paragon for all the cluster. How could he not admire her? Her unassuming surprise at being viewed as she was, that was remarkable as well. How fortunate he was, to have been in the right place, on the right day, to be the one to accompany her on her adventures; to accompany her even now, here, to Aya’s thrumming heart.

His younger self would have--no, _had_ \--dreamed of a day he would be so honored as to see this place. To earn acclaim for his family, and give his mothers something else to brag about. Yet, now that he was here, he found that his heart was lifted far more by the fact that there was strength and wholeness in the wise woman who lead the way.

When they had retrieved Moshae Sjefa from that terrible place, with the memory of her calling for destruction above even her own life, he had greatly feared the damage the kett might have done to her soul. But she was the _Moshae_. The loss of her heir, her _shonjeng_ , had not broken her. Hundreds of battles and losses across her long life had not broken her. And though they had tried with all the depravity they could muster, her captors had failed to break her. She had survived, and after a period of rest and support, she was the same wise presence he had known in his days as her student. They could not scar her soul.

A wave of the Moshae’s hand opened the remnant doors before them. He was amused to see Ryder’s look of open surprise. The Pathfinder was not the only one to have some ability to bend remnant tech to her will.

They entered the vault. Whispers of awe came from the Moshae’s students as they took in the wonders within. Here were the seeds of life, each plant from the surface above was represented, growing from the technology, nurtured without sunlight. Subtle fields of energy flowed around them, ancient and serene.

He found the vault beautiful, strange, yet somehow comforting. Homelike, for all they struggled to understand it’s workings. His gaze was discerning now, comparing the wonders here to what he had seen in the depths of Voeld. Though they planned to only enter the first few chambers of the vault here, some comparison could be made. Where Voeld’s vault was rife with interface points for shield domes, platforms, and remnant automata, Aya’s was possessed with a still simplicity. It beckoned the viewer to venture deeper, to seek out all its secrets.

He had long ago come to understand why he had failed as a student of the Moshae. After being rejected by the woman he had thought would be the love of his life as a young man barely into adulthood, he had thrown himself viciously into his work. The days he spent fighting to busy himself through heartbreak saw him pounding out innovations wherever he was assigned, desperate to keep his hands busy and his mind occupied, to overwhelm his broken heart with repairs and schematics. With the weight of the family name, he was able to petition for a spot among her students.

But he had become a student for the wrong reasons, looking for purpose and acclaim rather than pursuing knowledge for the joy of discovering and sharing those discoveries with others. The Moshae had spoken with him, helped him see the root of his own unhappiness. Pushing for acclaim led only to problems and frustration for all involved. Breakthroughs come to the diligent; they cannot be forced. When he tinkered for himself, discovered for himself, he was happy. When he was doing it to prove his worth, he was miserable. The Moshae had not missed any of this. They had agreed, after a series of difficult but necessary discussions, that this was not the place for him.

And so they’d parted, but remained close. He’d said as much to the Pathfinder before, though it might have become a bit slanted in translation.

The Moshae led Ryder to a prominent pedestal console, central in the room. “There’s always been an active display for Aya,” she explained “but we could never affect it.” She stepped away, letting the human examine the interface point.

Ryder gestured over the console, calling to her AI, her SAM, to aid her. Jaal had to admit he wasn’t sure what to think of such a construct. Could a mind created by others be truly realized as a person? The possibility of a constructed intelligence had occurred to the angara, of course, but strictly in the realm of science fiction. A question occurred to him-- _Do aliens have science fiction?_ He would have to ask Liam.

Within a few moments, Ryder’s AI brought remnant holograms flickering into view.

“Yes, this is _new_ ,” the Moshae murmured, stepping into the hologram. “Is it similar to the vault on Eos?” she asked the Pathfinder.

“Similar, but this is way more detailed,” Ryder said, walking through the patterns with her.

A vast holographic web filled the room. He quickly recognized it as a map of Heleus, but with much more data than he was accustomed to. It reminded him of a family tree: so many interconnected data points. There were easily thousands. And Ryder and the Moshae were saying that each one described a vault? Then…there, and there—and those: whole areas that must be undiscovered star systems. He began taking down notes, navigational data. Perhaps these were the location of lost colonies, ancient homeworlds. The students around him took their own readings as well.

“They’re not just connected to each other, are they?” he heard Ryder say. “Every branch comes together at that point.” She gestured at a small triangular symbol at the heart of the cluster.

“That image was on a relic the Archon showed me,” the Moshae said. “I believe it translates roughly to ‘Meridian.’”

“The word you used came out through my translation program to mean something like ‘the middle place, but fancy,’” Ryder said.

Sjefa chuckled. “More or less. Looking at it here…Pathfinder, I believe it’s a command center for the vault network. See how Aya’s vault is the only one that’s fully connected with it?”

“And it’s terraforming,” Ryder replied, her voice similarly awed, “doing what it was meant to do.”

“Look,” Avela pointed, gesturing to a prominently marked system. “This is your world, Pathfinder. Where you activated the vault is marked, but differently than Aya.”

“Huh. Maybe because I reset it at the source?”

“If Meridian, the control center, is where the signal was sent for the vaults to shut down…” the Moshae wondered.

“Then if we can get to Meridian, maybe we could turn everything on again!” Ryder finished for her, sounding more and more excited. “How many vaults are shown here? If they were all active, there’d be golden worlds for everyone, forever. Or near as makes no difference, from where we’re standing.”

 _This is how everyone gets an Aya_ , he thought, his excitement rising in step with Ryder’s. Hadn’t they _just_ talked about his dream of everyone having a world like this? But he hadn't truly believed... This was something they might achieve soon, in this lifetime!

“This would mean more than survival,” Ryder said. “It’s a future, for all of us.”

“We _must_ pursue it!” he agreed.

The Moshae raised a cautionary hand. “Wait, Ryder. The Archon knows where it is. He’s already been there. That’s why he tortured me,” she explained, too calmly, “long before I was marked as a candidate for their exaltation. He believed I could help him use it.”

“Because he can’t,” Masina finished for her.

The Archon was utterly obsessed with remnant, this they had long known. The Resistance had encountered swarms of kett forces on remnant sites around the cluster, increasing each time the angara threatened to push them back. But they had never known the reason for their fixation.

The thought of such a place, such potential for good for everyone, falling into kett hands... _What depravities might they inflict upon us, should they learn to use it?_

“The Archon cannot be allowed to maintain control of such a place,” he said, repulsed by the very thought. “We must take it from him!”

“I have a whole lot of people depending on me, asking me how I’m going to find them a home.” Ryder said, gesturing passionately. “This Meridian, it’s our best hope for an answer. Whatever it takes.”

The Moshae gestured for silence. “I agree. Such power in the hands of such evil could mean the end of your people--and mine.”

***

“You’re sure he’ll help us?” Ryder asked, as they crossed the threshold of the _daar goss_.

“You are the only person who can reliably work remnant technology,” he replied, “and you have a Resistance agent already assigned to your crew. Meridian must be pursued. Who else would Evfra send but us?”

“Maybe so. Still pretty sure he doesn’t like me.”

“That’s… just his way,” Jaal replied. “Evfra sees the benefit of this alliance, and he is devoting resources to make it grow. _Good cheer_ is not one of those resources.”

She snorted with amusement. “Right. But even with his help, I don’t know how we are going to the relic. I’ve encountered the Archon’s flagship once already, and we barely escaped alive. They locked our navigation and tried to force us into their hold. I would rather not think too hard about what might have happened if SAM hadn’t hacked their overrides and gotten us out of there.”

He gave her a small, reassuring smile. “I have an idea.”

Together, they stepped into Resistance Command.

Evfra handled the news that their greatest enemy had taken the key to possibly the most significant strategic site in the cluster before they even knew it existed with all his typical grace. Frustration and exhaustion were constant realities of Evfra's life; Jaal begrudged him nothing.

The Moshae shared with them what she had been able to glean from the relic during her time on the Archon’s massive dreadnaught, the Verakan.

“The device is a navigational beacon,” the Moshae explained, “connected with the control center at a quantum level and able to relay data about its position and status.”

“Of course,” she said as an aside to the Pathfinder, “I shared none of this with the Archon.”

“Could we track kett movements somehow?” Ryder asked. “They could lead us right to Meridian, no relic required.”

“Or lead our forces into any number of traps.” Evfra answered tersely. “We are already stretched too thin.”

“But where does that leave us?” the Moshae asked. “Trying to take anything from the Verakan would be suicide. Impossible.”

Jaal spoke. “Will all respect, Moshae Sjefa, that is what was said about your rescue.”

“The Tempest has some stealth technology,” Masina explained. “Enough to keep us off their sensors, so long as we keep our distance. But a flyby won't get us the relic.”

He had been considering the schematics of the Tempest. Mentally, he pulled the ship apart once more, rearranged the pieces. _Here, and there, and affix the generator in that space… That_ _ **should**_ _work_.

“I believe it may be possible to use angaran cloaking tech to mask the ship’s emission’s profile,” he announced.

“You want to make my ship invisible?” Ryder asked, incredulous.

“Yes--across the EM spectrum, as well. Angaran ships have toyed with the idea for years, but it’s never been practically viable—but now we may combine technology from both our peoples. I memorized the Tempest technical manuals your pilot provided to me. Given the structure of your ship’s drive core and dampening systems, I believe it’s possible. If we agree to make the attempt,” he continued, “whatever is developed through this collaboration must be shared with both civilizations.

“An interesting idea, Jaal,” Evfra said. “I’ll back it.”

“Hell yeah I’ll take an invisible ship,” Ryder agreed.

“So, working plan,” Ryder summarized, “we’re going to sneak up to the flagship and dock without them knowing we’re there. That sounds doable. But to do that, we're going to need to find it, and I'm not sure how we do that. Short of running blindly through the scourge until I crash into it again.”

An emotion passed between Moshae Sjefa and Evfra, an unresolved tension which they chose not to explain. Such behavior was unusual, but not unheard of.

“I will extend the resources of our intelligence network towards locating the Verakan.” Evfra said. “Eliminating kett leadership would be an appreciable side benefit, if successful,” he added dryly.

The Resistance leader considered them all gathered before him. To Ryder, he probably appeared as brusque and unapproachable as ever, but Jaal could feel the emotions in his field: Evfra was _hopeful_.

Evfra nodded in dismissal. “We’ll see what comes of this alliance.”

 


	3. Lessons with Lexi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A completely self-indulgent digression into the mechanics of angaran anatomy.

“Hey, Lexi. Got a minute?” Masina said as she slipped into the medbay, datapad in hand. “I’ve been trying to get my head around angaran anatomy. I was wanting to review the intel I’ve gotten so far with you, make sure I’m getting the gist of the basics. I want to make sure I know what’s a serious injury versus a minor one, and what’s more likely to be comfortable or unpleasant in general.”

“Of course, Ryder,” Lexi said, turning in her chair and gesturing for Masina to have a seat on the cot. “I’ll be developing a formal first aid training for the crew shortly, but we can review the basic anatomy text you procured as well.”

Masina settled in and pulled out her datapad full of notes. “So the taon is crazy, that big organ on their chest. It regulates their bioelectricity with channels extending down the arms and across the back and connecting up to the mantle.” She gestured vaguely along her own neck and arms, miming the position of the channels. “That’s where most of the photovoltaic cells are, the top of the head and down the mantle. Angara are biologically discouraged from wearing hats.”

“Hmph. The xenoanthropologists will have a field day with that one,” said Lexi, as she pulled up notes and diagrams of her own.

Masina continued. “Also the system directly hooks into cardiac and brain activity. It’s essentially impossible for an angara to live without EM abilities. Oh, and I probably figured out why they don’t shake hands, at least not with strangers. A taon channel leads right down to the base of the palm, and that’s the point on their body where most of their direct electrical attacks come from.”

Lexi read from her notes. “They have a low average body temperature, with a wider range of healthy internal temperatures than any species I’ve studied before. Thermoregulation follows an entirely different set of parameters than your physiology or mine. Angaran body heat appears to be primarily generated as a byproduct of electricity transfer and brain activity, and their bodies have adapted strategies to shed excess heat, rather than retain it.”

“Explains why the whole taon thing is so…” Masina gestured vaguely over her own chest area, “exposed, for a vital organ, if it generates a lot of excess heat. Why they kinda look…shrinkwrapped. “

“Yes,” Lexi agreed absently, “very little subdermal body fat. The transcranial fringes, these blue areas under the folds of the mantle? They also seem to be part of a heat-wicking system--blood flows through these gill-like structures here to be cooled by exterior air and keep the brain and myelinated channels of the taon from overheating. Blood pressure changes and the opening and closing of arterial valves help manage the cooling process. Their blood and tissues contain compounds that discourage water from crystalizing, a sort of biological antifreeze. Hemocyanic blood compositions are typically better at carrying oxygen at lower temperatures.”

“Explains several things about Voeld, that,” Masina replied.

“Indeed.”

“It also raises some interesting questions about their evolution, and what sort of climate their homeworld Havarl may have had in the past.” Masina noted, her brow knitted in confusion. “Why would a species develop antifreeze blood on a tropical world?”

“Perhaps it supports some other biological function, and the cold adaptation is an accidental side benefit,” Lexi speculated.

“Oddly specific, but okay,” Masina replied. “So, next up: immune system?”

“Illness appears to be a deeply private topic,” Lexi finished for her. “And very rare. Angaran chemical composition is high in silver and copper, which paired with photovoltaic skin and subdermal taon channels create a hostile environment for invading microbes.”

“Yeah, I noticed there’s hardly any mention of the kind of infection-based illnesses most Milky Way species have all the time. They just... don’t get sick, save for autoimmune disorders or system failures, or maybe a really nasty wound that disrupts their natural defenses.”

Masina scrolled further down the translated anatomy text. Something utterly bizarre caught her eye. She pulled the datapad close, to make sure she was reading the text accurately.

“What the actual…? _Mammals?_ THEY’RE NOT MAMMALS. Hell, who wrote this this? Mammal is an Earth specific classification. You’ve got to have mammary glands and _hair._ Day _one_ you can see that they don’t have hair. What is science coming to?”

“It’s a malfunction I’ve seen with human translation programs before,” Lexi commented calmly. “Viviparous is more accurate. Additionally, I’ve noticed further misleading translations in the text, regarding how angara care for their young. The initial translation programs took the phrase ‘angara provide their young with energy from their bodies’ as a reference to nursing, but I did some further research, and found the text is actually referencing a more direct and literal energy transfer. Angara don’t develop the ability to reliably store a sufficient electric charge for their first few years, and thus draw charge from adult caregivers.”

“Baby angara have weak batteries, got it.”

“Small batteries comparative to the size of their brains would be more accurate, but essentially, yes,” Lexi replied.

Masina remembered the kid at Techiix getting nagged to bask. What difference would it make if he got to run and play under the sun, no longer tethered to sunlamps and the scraps of charge family could spare. The skies were clear, and the kett were being pushed back on nearly every Voeld front. Soon, perhaps. But for now, there were more worlds to bring back to life, and so, so many kett to push back. She turned her focus to keeping the newest addition to the Pathfinder team alive in the field.

“Okay, so…” Masina began, “serious injuries to watch out for and avoid: obvious stuff, like broken bones, shot to the face, or a neck wound. Though, the mantle makes it hard for a neck wound to land. Kinda like krogan, enemies are pretty much forced to attack them from the front. Damage to the cardiovascular core is as deadly for them as anyone. Heart is lower-set than ours, making room for taon stuff, and slightly to the right of midline.”

“Generally, the angara are very durable,” Lexi noted. “High strength, high endurance, with a wide range of comfortable environments. They’re not krogan, but they’re not far behind them in terms of survivability. Severing of the taon channels to the heart or brain is typically lethal,” Lexi added, gesturing to her diagram, “though the brain has some energy redundancy from the mantle. Severe damage to the taon itself, there under the main channels on the chest, that’s usually fatal. Severing a channel to a limb is disabling, akin to severing a nerve or a tendon.” She paused, speaking more gently now. “Many angara held in kett captivity for long periods have had the channels on their arms severed, to prevent them from electrocuting their captors. This also severely limits their ability to interface with most angaran technology, their arts, and emotional expression.”

“Just when I thought I understood the full range of kett depravity…” Masina sighed.

Lexi hummed in agreement. They were quiet for a moment, as Masina examined the diagrams further.

“Huh. Jaal got lucky with that carfalon scar. A few more centimeters and it would have damaged the myelination of one of the major channels and disrupted the flow of electricity on his whole left side. Though I gotta question the intellect of the kett that thought it was worth it to try and behead an angara,” she added, shaking her head. “I wonder why they scar violet, when most of their tissues are blue.”

“There’s a layer of tissue in the skin that regenerates poorly,” Lexi answered. “Angaran skin, you might have noticed, has a pearly, reflective quality in areas with limited pigmentation. The lowest level of the dermis, below the layer of photovoltaic cells, is reflective, to allow the photovoltaic layer another chance to absorb light energy. It is similar in concept, if not composition, to the reflective membrane in the eyes of some species, including common Earth domestics. Trauma interrupts the lattice structure, causing the discolored scars. This layer is high in zinc--generally angara have significant mineral requirements to repair and maintain their physiology: copper, silver, zinc, and many others. I’m still gathering data, but I suspect much of their nutrient paste is composed to replenish these micronutrients, more than supplying calories, as much of their body’s energy needs are met by absorbing sunlight. As an active biotic, you need about eight thousand calories per day, six if you’re being purposefully sedentary. Jaal only needs about a thousand, so long as he’s getting proper sun exposure.”

Masina opened a new window on her datapad and hurriedly typed in some additional notes. _Angara skin shiny. Need their vitamins. Steal Jaal’s dessert--he won’t miss it._ “Got it,” she assured Lexi.

“Hm.” Lexi made a politely skeptical noise, but she continued on. “Angaran hearing is conducted through subdermal semifluid pockets under the skin to either side of the face.”

“Kinda like the melon in cetaceans?” Masina asked.

“Possibly,” Lexi replied. “I would need to review their physiology in more detail to compare. Angaran hearing is a little weaker than yours or mine, and more frontal. They rely more on their excellent vision and electromagnetic abilities.”

“So, hearing is a little less important for them. Might explain why they’re so loud sometimes.”

Lexi stifled a snort. “Yes, that’s possible, though we shouldn’t rule out differing cultural norms as well. Most krogan have superb hearing, and use their volume for social posturing.”

“You’ve studied krogan a lot, huh doc? Exactly how excited were you when we added Drack to the crew?”

“It has been refreshing to revisit, after spending so much time studying humans in the last few decades.” Lexi’s expression, for a moment, turned a tad dreamy. “And Drack is… so stubborn, yet so appreciative.” The silence hung for a few moments, and Lexi’s expression seemed very far away.

“Doc?”

“Uh, yes.” Lexi hurriedly returned to her notes. “Um. Angaran genetics: they have a limited number of chromosomes, less than in a human’s twenty-three pairs, or an asari’s thirty-five. Each chromosome is large, and very uniform size. Very clean genetics, almost no superfluous code.”

“Heh. Ninteen pairs, same as a cat,” Masina observed. “Suvi says their genes are pretty. Shame the kett agree…”

“Angara are cathemeral: they don’t have a set day/night cycle based on circadian rhythms. This is likely an adaptation associated with the variable light levels on Havarl. They require six to nine hours of sleep per standard day, but typically broken up into two or three naps, with extended periods of wakefulness in between. We shouldn’t be alarmed to find Jaal awake at odd hours. That’s entirely natural for him.”

“Oh, is that why he’s always falling asleep in the Nomad?” Masina grinned. “Nah, I’m sure it’s just my driving skills. I imagine that sleeping pattern is helpful for keeping watch against the kett--there’s always bound to be somebody awake.”

“Their eyesight is able to function with extreme focus and clarity in light conditions ranging from the intensely bright snowglare of Voeld to the week-long darkness as Havarl passes through the shadow of its gas giant. They also excel at pattern recognition.” Lexi’s tone grew more serious. “If you see an angara, assume that they have already seen you.”

“Yeah,” Masina replied as she shuffled through the last few notes. “Their eyes are insane. No wonder Jaal couldn’t explain how they work. At least as good as krogan eyeballs, maybe better. Shifting reflective membranes that respond to internal pressure when the pupil dilates, multiple internal lenses…”

Lexi shuffled her notes aside. “Ryder, there are several angaran factions that are violently opposed to our presence in Heleus. If you need to kill an angara, I’ve been researching the most effective ways to do so.” Lexi handed her a datapad, showing diagrams of vital areas, blue halos of biotic effect zones. _Snap their spine, collapse their lungs, crush their heart. Brutal strategies._

“I never figured you’d be advising me on how to kill people.”

“It’s my job to keep you alive and whole. I’ll use whatever means I have to do that job,” Lexi said with slightly unnerving calm. “Ryder, I _did_ spend years doing field research on Tuchanka. I’m no stranger to fighting. I can take people apart as easily as I can put them back together again.”

“I’ll remember that the next time you tell me to take my vitamins.”

“It’s not a joke. Be ready.”

 


	4. Friendship at Lightspeed

To see new worlds, touch unknown horizons, this was adventure. But even a ship of such paramount design as the Tempest could not entirely ignore the limitations of reality. From adventure to adventure, there were the hours, sometimes days, when the ship sped through the void, sailing through the space between. This was the time Jaal used to learn about these many strange others, and they about him, in this little pocket of light and life hurtling through space.

***

“So, did you always want to be a fighter?” Ryder had asked him as they and Liam worked together in the crew quarters. “Did you study anything particular in school?”

“I… No. I don’t like to talk about it, but I’m not a fighter, not really. The kett occupation creates chaos,” he explained, “so our educations are… chaotic. I’m not really anything.”

“But that’s an excuse,” he had admitted, to himself and his friends. “The truth is, I’m not sure yet what I want for my life, at my age. I hope being here will inspire me.”

“New beginnings for everybody.” Ryder replied with a smile. “It’s what the Initiative’s about.”

Before Jaal could truly consider the implications of her statement, Liam voiced a question. “At your age? How old are you?”

“It changes, depending on what planet we’re on. I have lived through nine Havarlian years, or twenty by Ayan measures.”

“And Voeld?” Liam asked curiously.

“Mm. Evfra has seen one year, the Moshae: two. I’m maybe... half a year? It’s rather arbitrary.”

The SAM AI ran a conversion: “A Havarlian year is equal to 2.9 earth years. Jaal is approximately 27 Earth Standard years old.”

“Ah. Is age a…big deal, to humans?”

“In the extremes, or maybe when they mix.” Liam replied. “I mean, Peebee’s like four hundred years old, but she acts twelve.”

“What does it mean, then?” Ryder asked. “For you to be that age. You brought it up, and…”

It was an uncomfortable, rather painful thing for him to talk about. He examined it anyway, considering how best to say it clearly through the translators. It seemed that every moment now he was breaking concepts down to their component pieces, to be reassembled in the minds of others. But how else would they learn?

“It means…Mm. My mothers expect more of me than I have achieved. Other siblings from my litter have found their place, where they belong. I have…a number of attempts to show for my years, in various places—ah, like you did, Liam. When you wanted to make things better, so you left—but nothing that has ever felt right. Except, perhaps here.”

“Sorry we were late.” Ryder said, with sincerity.

“How could you have known?” he told her.

They worked quietly together for a moment. He enjoyed the feeling of camaraderie in their presence. There was acceptance here, not expectation. A strange but appreciable benefit of living among aliens.

“So,” Liam asked eventually. The man could not stand stillness for long. “How’d you get that scar?” Liam gestured to the deep notch carved across the left side of his mantle.

“A kett soldier with a carfalon blade. I was new to the Resistance, inexperienced. I became too focused on eliminating targets at range to remain aware of my position. It was…not a pleasant day.”

“Were they trying to cut your head off?” asked Liam. “That seems like a shitty plan.”

“Does it affect your hearing on that side?” Ryder asked.

“A little, but only certain frequencies are affected. I get by. But, the scar _does_ look impressive,” he said, allowing himself to preen just a little. It was true, after all.

Ryder finished another seam test and stowed away the last piece of gear. “So I wanted to say sorry, for the whole conversation about eyeballs the other day. Lexi showed me the diagrams, and I’m still not sure I understand everything going on with angaran eyesight.”

“What? Do you guys see in UV, like the asari and salarians?” Liam asked eagerly. The young man didn’t always think about his questions before he asked them, unfortunately. But he was as eager to answer questions as ask them.

“I don’t think so?” Jaal answered tersely. “As I informed you earlier, biology is neither my specialization nor my interest.” He did not bother to hide his annoyance at the question, or his own lack of knowledge. He was well past the need for such illusions with these two, for which he was very grateful.

Ryder suggested a more practical demonstration then. She tossed a datapad to Liam. “See how far away you can get and Jaal can still read the text,” she directed him.

Jaal’s reaction was bemused exasperation as he agreed to the experiment.

He discovered that day that human eyesight was comparatively terrible. Liam ended up nearly climbing onto the coffee maker, trying to find a point in the room far enough from Jaal that the text could not be read comfortably.

***

So,” Liam asked, “got any family?”

“Sit down,” Jaal advised him. “This will take a while. Is someone bringing us snacks and drinks?’

Liam laughed. “It’s really that big?”

“We have large families. Mine has more than five mothers, over a dozen aunts and uncles, our elders, and many _many_ siblings and cousins. Ah, how many siblings do you have?”

“None,” Liam explained. “My family was just my mum, my dad, and me.”

Jaal shook his head. “No siblings at all? I find that so difficult to relate to.”

Liam turned to Ryder. “Back me up, yeah? Tell us about your family.”

Ryder looked…thoughtful. “I think we are using the same word to talk about two different things,” she said. “Liam, you’re talking about your immediate, nuclear family. Mine would be my mother, father, and brother. We travel together and live together wherever we are. Liam, did you have more family, outside of your parents?

“Well yeah. I had an aunt out in Surrey, and my dad had some cousins, but they didn’t really visit.”

Ryder continued. “And Jaal, your family, I… there’s a word that my people use, it doesn’t translate very well into the standard human language: _aiga_. It…” She gestured as if she were gathering something together. “It’s all the family. Brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles and elders and leaders, by blood and those we’ve adopted and claimed as our own.”

“So,” she concluded, “Liam never really had an aiga, and Jaal, it sounds like you only have aiga, so your understandings don’t really meet in the middle. I’ve had both: a small family unit that traveled together, and a large, complicated extended family back home on Earth.”

“Ay… Ayng-a?” Liam stumbled over the word, the differences in their accent and background clear. Such a diverse people, like his own.

Ryder giggled. “Liam, when it’s pronounced that way it means ‘restaurant.’”

_It is a comfort_ , he thought, _to find yet another way we are more similar than we are different_.

***

As they worked together in the cargo bay, tinkering on the Nomad and sundry other projects, Vetra had asked him: “Does Jaal mean anything? Do angara give their children meaningful names?”

“Meaningful?” he had replied, surprised and a bit baffled by the question. “Of course. My name means plenty: it represents me, and…who I am in this world.”

“No,” Vetra clarified, “I mean does ‘Jaal’ mean anything in angaran, like ‘warrior’ or ‘brave’ or ‘clever?’”

“On its own? Why would you expect it to? What if Jaal meant ‘warrior’ and I didn’t become a warrior. That would just…confuse people.”

“Somehow we get by,” she replied dryly. “‘ _Vetra_ ’ is the polar star of Epyrus, the colony world my dad was from. Something a navigator could put their trust in; steady. My sister, Sidera, she’s named after one of the seven spirits of night from mythology, the one that gave dreams of inspiration.”

“Liam means something like ‘stubborn warrior,’” added the owner of that name. “That’s a pretty good fit, right? Probably translate to Gosan-something in Shelesh. What about you, Ryder? What’s Masina in Oceanic?”

“ _Samoan_ ,” Ryder replied. “And Masina is only part of my name. It probably has too many vowels for you, Liam. My name means ‘one who chases the moon.’ I was given it after my great-grandmother. She was influential during the accords establishing the Oceanic Confederacy.”

“ _Tulilemasina_ ,” she said, “the one who pursues their goals, even when they seem impossible.”

“Yeah,” Liam snorted, “Too many vowels.”

Jaal attempted the name and had no problem. He found it fluid and attractive. Masina appeared highly appreciative.

“How do angaran names work across generations?” Vetra asked. “Eventually you must run out of names that don’t sound awful.”

“Repetition is inevitable, I suppose, but within families it is avoided as much as possible. We believe that it would…confuse the soul to return and wear the name of a relative. One’s personal name is meant to be…like an empty page, for the new individual to fill.”

“Family names are a different matter. Ama Darav means something like ‘faith, and also hope, in the daar, in home and family. Perhaps: ‘I place my faith in the foundation of my family.’”

***

Liam and Gil were teasing each other about… _something_ , as Jaal entered the Tempest galley. Ryder was assisting Drack at the counter with what he assumed would soon be the crew’s evening meal.

“It’d be like cuddling a fork!” Liam exclaimed. “Oooh, _forking.”_

“Oh, come on. It’s not like they’re spiky everywhere!” Ryder interjected.

“Yeah, and how would you know?” Gil teased. “You banged a turian, Ryder?”

“Uh, yes,” she replied, with a shamelessness he found refreshing.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Ryder smirked.

“Well, shit,” said Gil.

“Well that’s weird,” Liam replied. “No offense to Vetra, but…things must’ve been shaped weird.”

“Liam, have you looked at your feet?” Ryder replied. “We’re _all_ shaped weird.”

“So,” Gil said, “where is this spiky mystery gentleman? Lady?”

“His family hated the idea of me.”

“Well, you are kind of an ass.”

“Pssh. Thanks. Was more the whole ‘I’m not turian’ thing,” she said, abandoning the cooktop to tell her story. “We were both envoy brats, you know? Gotta climb the ranks, join the fleet, meet family expectations. And the fleet was a good place for him, where he wanted to be. We tried to go public with our relationship. His family said they’d disown him if we stayed together. They would have wrecked his career, killed his dreams. And I wouldn’t be part of that. I’m not that much of an ass.”

“Shit, Ryder,” Gil said softly.

“They would… _Disown_ him?” Jaal asked. “I –perhaps this word does not translate properly.”

“Kick him out of the family, Jaal” Liam interjected. “It happens sometimes, especially in families that already have a lot of prestige. They’d rather kick somebody out than take a chance on losing status.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t fair, but what can you do?” Ryder said. “Not gonna be the wedge between somebody and the life they ought to have.”

“If you’re all done prying into each others' sordid pasts,” Drack rumbled, “food’s ready to eat.”

***

“So,” Liam began as he always did, fishing for some new question. “Got any pets?”

“Not right now,” Jaal answered. “As a child I had a pet karkyn.”

“One of those…” Liam mimicked crawling legs with his too-many-fingers. “Buggy things.”

“Uh, yes. We raise them as food. I was allowed to help, and I…grew attached. He lived a long life, for a karkyn, and I was not allowed to help with raising meat animals anymore. My sister raises adhi.”

“What are they?”

Jaal showed him an image. “They are pack hunters. If taken from their mothers and raised from birth, they are loyal fighters at our side.”

“Angara’s best friend, huh?”

“That…is an odd way to put it, especially with your Initiative here now.”

“Well, they’re sort of like our pets called _dogs_ ,” Liam explained. “We call them man’s best friend. We’ve been working together pretty much forever. Here, I’ll show you.”

Liam attempted to explain dogs to Jaal. He opened up a cascade of images. It seemed ‘dogs’ came in an improbable number of shapes and sizes. Or Liam was messing with him.

“We worked with rescue dogs in HUSTL, just another part of the team.” Liam scrolled through even more images, humans living alongside another species in their home, alongside their children. “I had a dog growing up, Roxy. Closest thing I had to a sibling. Just another part of the family, yeah?”

The creature in the image showed its sharp teeth and gaping jaws, dripping tongue dangling from its mouth. “That one looks aggressive,” Jaal observed.

“No, he’s happy. The grin’s gone to his eyes, see?”

“If humanity already had a ‘best friend’ species, why so anxious to meet alien life?”

“Uh, I dunno. Dogs don’t talk?” Liam flipped to the next image, an assembly of human family and animal life. There were several human children, a number of various dog-creatures, and…

“Liam… _what_ is _that_?”

“That’s a cat. Different sort of pet animal. Pretty cute, huh?”

“…They have…little _people_ faces. I find them very unnerving.”

***

Some time later, Jaal decided the moment was right to approach his human friend with a question of his own. “Liam…” he began. “You have spent a great deal of time trying to know me better, and I have been wondering: are you trying to, ah…flirt, with me?”

Liam, appearing startled by the question, stammered “Uh, no. I’m not into dudes.”

“You are…” Jaal chuckled uncertainly. “What?”

“You know, dudes, like me and you. Gil. Kallo. I’m interested in girls, like Ryder, or Vetra.”

“You have no reservations about relationships across species, but only if the person in question is of a certain gender?” Jaal attempted to clarify.

“Uh, yeah?”

“Hm,” he sighed, “I suppose I should not expect an alien to make sense to me.”

“Okay, so what are you into? Men, women, both? None of the above?”

“I am generally interested in _people_ ,” Jaal answered, in the tone of voice he used to tersely explain the obvious.

“Okay. Uh…sorry for not being interested?”

“I’m not interested in you, Liam. I simply wished to understand your intentions. Hmph, you seem disappointed. Are you sure your inclinations are so specific?”

“Psh, shut up.”

“I’m… still not very sure of everyone’s intentions… or, attentions. I recently learned Vetra was acting as though she disliked me because she feared I resented her. I suspect I am missing or misreading a lot.”

“Liam…” he continued cautiously. “Hm. Is, ah…any of the crew flirting with me?”

“I dunno, maybe?” Liam paused to think about it. “Uh…Ryder likes your legs?”

“Ah. Uh. Hm. I…” He let out a little huff of laughter. “That’s…good to know.” He felt a little disappointed. He was well aware of his nice figure, and was hoping for… more personal interest. But perhaps that had always been too much to hope for.

***

“So,” Ryder asked him, “angara are sensitive to EMF.”

“Yes.”

“And, you use it to talk?”

“Eh, yes. Sort of.”

“Can you… can I?” She looked at him questioningly. It took him a moment to piece together what she was asking for.

“Mmph. I have not been dampening myself, not for some time. You… haven’t noticed? Hm. I suppose your ship is still rather _tevaanj.”_

“That didn’t translate.”

“Eh…there are many fields, like many voices in a room. It is loud.”

“If it’s bothering you, we can talk to Gil and Kallo about ways to…make the Tempest quieter for you,” Ryder said, concerned.

“I have,” he assured her. “We’ve made some changes. It is…tolerable enough.” He offered her his arm, bent and close-fisted. “Here, try this.”

“Uh, okay.” She mimed the angle of his arm, closed her fist. Hesitated.

_She does not know. How would she?_

“Here.” He took her arm, guiding her to cross wrists with him. He gave a pulse of energy across the connection. “This is a greeting done between strangers.” He moved her arm up, until her knuckles rested against his bicep, and gave a different, deeper pulse. “And this is one done between trusted companions.” He let her arm go, looked at her hopefully. “You feel the difference?”

Her expression told him she didn’t.

“Hmph,” he pondered. He had one more idea. He removed his gauntlets, offered his hands to her. She paused a beat—He realized he wasn’t sure she’d seen his hands without gloves before. Perhaps she was surprised they lacked the little keratin shields hers had. She looked so fiercely curious. It was an expression he was growing increasingly fond of.

She placed her hands in his. The gesture typically carried a more intimate meaning, but it was entirely possible the slight dampening effect of his gear, intended to protect electronics from being accidentally scrambled by a heated emotion, might be too thick for her to sense through.

He tried a complex pattern first. _Gratitude, joy, a touch of pleased surprise. The concepts of here (expansive) and here (immediate). Appreciation. I am thankful to be here, on this crew, and here, with you specifically._

He looked up. She was still looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to demonstrate.

“You, did not feel that? Did you feel anything at all?”

“I…no,” she replied, her brows knitted with concern. “Maybe I can’t.”

Perhaps she could perceive something simpler. He sent an inquisitive pulse, as one might begin a question.

Nothing.

Again, a stronger pulse this time. A rude shout of a question.

Still nothing.

A jolting spark of charge, as one might use to abruptly wake a sibling.

“I felt that!” Ryder’s face lit up in joy. “I felt it! Like a little shock, just a tap in my hand. What was that. Was it a word? What does it mean?”

“Something less than a word, more of a very mild attack,” he admitted. “I was beginning to suspect you were… _messing_ with me, when you did not respond to anything else.”

“Seems like that’s a no for me then,” she said. Her disappointment reflected his own.

_So, there are barriers between us we cannot cross._

“Is there—do you have a word for it, when an angara can’t sense EMF?” she asked.

“Dead,” he replied. “Or about to be. Such an injury as to cut off that sense would be invariably fatal.”

“I’m sorry,” Ryder apologized, as if she had chosen to omit this vital sense from herself. “I hope it doesn’t make you feel too alone.”

_Kindness. This part of her I will always understand_.

“Though,” he said rather cheekily, recovered from his disappointment, “being blind does not prevent you from being _seen_.”

“What?” she asked with incredulous enthusiasm.

“You still produce electric fields,” he explained. “You, specifically more than others—It seems to be connected with your…biotics. Mh. A question: I have heard you reference feeling things with your biotics before. How does that work?”

“Yeah, I can…sort of sense the distribution of mass in the area around me,” she explained. “Matter makes an imprint on the fabric of reality, and with my abilities--and a hell of a lot of training--I can feel those imprints as mass effect signatures.”

“So… you are blind to energy, and I am blind to mass,” he reflected, thoughtful. “I suppose then, that, together, we can see the entire universe.”

 


	5. A Nexus of Connection

“Ryder!” Jaal greeted her excitedly. “Thank you, for arranging my access to the cultural center. This place is _great._ There’s so much to study here! It would take a lifetime.”

“It would, wouldn’t it?” she replied, returning his smile. “Oh, I’d enjoy that. All that reading—history, science, culture. Get some snacks, settle into that corner over there…”

“That would be a nice full-time job,” he said, considering the exchange spread out before them.

“I know,” she agreed. “Shame we’ve already got one.” She paused, taking him in: his bright eyes studying everything, that subtle little smile playing on his lips. She had never met someone quite so eager and excited to learn about everything.

She shook herself back to the task at hand, keying a code into her omni-tool. “There. Your access should include download permissions, so you can take as much as you like back to the Tempest. I’ve got some of my own texts I can lend you as well, if you’d like.”

“You sound as though you enjoy this as much as I do.”

“I dunno.” She looked up the hall, giving the displays a critical glance. “Could use more information about angara.” She turned to him, smiling. “Maybe someday.”

She gestured to the archives. “So, where are you going to start?”

“No offense,” he answered, “but I’m starting with the asari.”

“Why would that offend me?” Masina asked, surprised. “Best to start at the beginning.”

“Ah. I thought you might encourage me to study your own people,” Jaal explained.

“Well, eventually yeah,” she agreed, walking down the aisles of holodisplays with him. “But we’re the newcomers in the story. Fresh off our homeworld and shaking things up for the last thirty years.”

“Your people appear so integral to the Initiative,” Jaal noted, taking in the displays. “It is difficult to remember that you have known other species for only a generation.”

“Drack says we’re too bold. Dad was one of the first to leave our home system. Here I am, one of the first in a new galaxy. Hah, who knows where my children will go?”

“You have children?” he asked, surprised.

“Well, not yet. But I intend to, eventually, absolutely. Even if I had to raise them alone, I would. We brought huge gene banks with us.” She paused, watching the VI prattle on about interspecies political relations.

“The display here is a bit biased,” she told him. “Don’t let it lead you to neglect the non-council races--Hanar poetry oration is a sight to behold. They naturally communicate with luminescence, and the words come through translation, but the lights really carry the emotion.”

He smiled. “That sounds glorious. Can you show me?”

“Pathfinder.” It was the assistant to Launa T’Saphra, the coordinator of the exchange. “Ms.T’Saphra is meeting with the angaran ambassador and requires your assistance.” The asari gestured up and away in the direction of the meeting.

“Go enjoy yourself,” Masina told Jaal, giving his shoulder an affectionate pat. “I’ll try and join you later.”

It was a bit surprising T’Saphra was taking the lead on angaran diplomatic relations. The asari was a glorified museum curator, at least in her intended position. But the alternative was for the angaran delegation to meet with Director Tann. _And we all know how much of a shitshow_ _ **that**_ _would be_. _Thank the stars Launa stepped up to handle this._

As she approached the gathering of diplomats, she found herself trying to place the ambassador’s accent. His was not the fluid, rolling speech she was familiar with from Jaal, nor the sharply lilting Estrajan accent of Evfra and most citizens of Voeld. The ambassador wore a deep mauve rofjinn, the same color as the Moshae’s regalia. _Significant?_ she wondered.

She didn’t really know much yet about the angaran ambassador. She and leadership on Aya had come to a mutual agreement that she recuse herself from the process of deliberation and election, so that none could say her influence invalidated any candidate for the position. This would be the first time she’d have the chance to speak with the man the angara of Aya had selected to represent them.

“And we’re happy to help your guards secure their weapons.” she heard Launa finish, in that blandly firm asari tone.

“I prefer them armed for now,” the angaran ambassador replied, with the same exact level of polite finality. “You understand, of course.”

_Well, at least they’re evenly matched. Not even a day yet and we’ve already got conflict. Thankfully it sounds like with these two it’ll be a war of brutal politeness and devastating diplomacy. Much less messy, those._

“Pathfinder,” Launa greeted her. “This is the head of the angaran delegation.”

“The one who saved the Moshae.” The ambassador regarded her curiously. “She speaks highly of you. Call me Isa de Navar.”

“Welcome to the Nexus,” Masina said, trying not to look too surprised to hear the Moshae had talked her up. “Your visit here will be one for the history books.”

“I wonder what they’ll say,” he replied. He sounded thoughtful, pensive, and very well aware of the vast number of directions this meeting of peoples might yet slide.

“I was just explaining to the ambassador that armed guards aren’t necessary here,” Launa said, sounding probably more like an exasperated museum docent than she intended. It was standard procedure on the Nexus for all non-security personnel to keep weapons secured on the station. She had her team had followed similar requests on Aya.

“Is something wrong, amb—Isa,” Masina corrected herself. _He literally just told me what to call him. I can at least show respect for that._

“Please walk with me, Pathfinder.”

He led her to the commons overlook. The Nexus commons unfolded below them, busy with the many people of the Initiative: human, asari, salarian, turian. The bustle of business, the continued work to repair and improve the station, the gatherings of friends beneath the few precious trees they had cultivated, the excited reunions as new colonists were cleared to enter the station, fresh from cryo.

“So much life.” he said in wonder, gazing at the crowds below. “All different; all united. The way it could have been.”

“Seventy-five years ago, we were scattered, struggling to rebuild after the Scourge. Then the kett arrived.” Isa breathed a thoughtful sigh. “Alien life. It was… _monumental_. But then they deceived and enslaved us. So, I hope you understand my… precautions.”

“With all your people have been through…” Masina replied, thinking of the depravity she had witnessed inflicted upon the angara by the kett in just her short time in Heleus, “Yeah, I’d be cautious too.”

“Yet all this—your Initiative—is proof there’s a better way. I want to believe in this alliance, Pathfinder. The Moshae says you’re trustworthy.” He turned to her, his gaze transparent yet so piercing, and quietly implored: “Please, help _me_ trust in you.”

Masina leaned on the railing next to him, staring out over the commons, considering what to say. What could _she_ say, truthfully? Pathfinder or not, she could not account for the actions of all her people. How could she make the angara feel at home here, confident that their trust was not placed in vain?

_It’s like casting biotic charge,_ she told herself. _Envision yourself at the target, then bend your surroundings until your vision has become reality. Build a bridge to cross the distance_.

_There is an incredible weight on Isa’s shoulders, to represent his people and navigate interests and concerns in among a new and alien society. What would we be seeking, in his place?_

_How was humanity accepted into the larger galactic society, back in the Milky Way?_ It was hard to remember. She’d been a child through most of it; the vast, diverse galactic society represented below had been all she’d really known. Her conversation with Jaal from earlier came to mind.

“You know,” she told the ambassador, “Humanity, we believed we were alone until a generation ago. Any human you see with grey in their hair has lived through our own momentous meeting.”

“And here you are, a leader among them,” Isa observed.

“We got lucky,” she replied. “We had nice neighbors.”

“I wonder what might have happened if your people had arrived first,” he said.

It was nice to imagine the angara, kind and generous, would have welcomed them with open arms and celebration. The truth was likely far more fractured and political, and on the whole not terribly relevant. _**This**_ _is the reality we’re stuck in, the one we have to make work. The distance we need to cross to come together._

“My parents were part of a delegation much like yours,” she told him. “A soldier and a researcher, among the best and brightest our people had to offer. They came to the Citadel, the seat of government for all species in the Milky Way who want to work together. It’s the place the Nexus was designed to emulate.”

“What was the name of your ambassador?” Isa asked. _Sincere interest, or a chance to check if I’m telling the truth? Or both, I suppose._

“We had three ambassadors, Kinder, Wu, and Goyle, representing our largest populations under the Systems Alliance. Their mission was to help humanity find our place within the civilization of our home galaxy. I hope, in a generation, your people will be to us as my people now are within the Initiative.”

“So, there you go,” she grinned, throwing her arms wide. “That’s my hope, my grand goal. Now you know.”

Isa was quiet. Clearly, it would take more than a few words about her own people’s past, which could so easily be fabricated, to put him at ease here.

_The kett also preach unity_ , she thought to herself. _On their terms, unilateral. Consuming, not collaborating. How do we prove we’re different?_

_By living it._

“When we entered into the galactic community, humanity was allowed full access to the Citadel archives to independently verify all we were told,” she said, as she turned to him. “And that’s what we’ll give to you. A free and open exchange of information, innovation, culture. Whatever information you need. No exceptions, no secrets. We will need transparency to allow this partnership to thrive.”

“We’re rather strapped for supplies,” she continued, “but we’d also be happy to deal in trade, whatever we can spare with whatever you choose to offer.”

“You’d be that open with us?” Isa asked with soft wonder.

“We have nothing to hide. Everything we say, you can check. We don’t expect you to enter this alliance blind.”

“What’s the price?”

“Whatever you’re willing to give,” she said. “Whatever you decide to share with us. This is your home,” she continued. “We want to respect that. _I_ want to respect that. We hope to have a place beside your people as friends and allies here in Heleus, but we’re not going to decide for you how that will look. That’s up to you.”

Isa stepped away from the railing. He considered her a moment, searching for any possible sign of duplicity in her. Finally, he nodded. “My delegation will surrender their weapons to your militia, if that’s satisfactory.”

“Thank you. We won’t disappoint you, Isa.”

He nodded in reply. As he stepped back to return to his delegation, he spoke a few words in farewell.

“ _Paavoa set jave jarevon, vesoan_. Welcome to our galaxy.”

***

“Shalom!” Jaal called to her, smiling. “Heh. That is my favorite human greeting, so far.”

_Shalom: peace be with you._ “It suits you,” she said, coming to join him. “How are you finding the cultural exchange?” she asked. “Surely you didn’t get through all our history to humanity already--I thought you were starting with the asari?”

“I will. I… chose to look at human greetings until you returned. I thought we could look at the exchange together,” Jaal explained. “To…do something enjoyable, as friends.”

He waited for her response, his head ducked just a tad, giving the approximation of looking up at her despite his towering height. His big blue eyes were bright with hope and excitement. It was really amazing how a hundred and twenty kilos of muscle and lightning could look so damn endearing.

There were probably Pathfinder… _things_ she ought to be doing, but…

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

And together they passed what was absolutely her best afternoon since arriving in Andromeda.

They started at the beginning, discussing early asari mythology and possible connections to the protheans who came before, through to the discovery of the Citadel by asari explorers and their first contact with the salarians only a few decades later. They admired the cerulean vistas of Thessia, and the vibrant jungles of Sur’Kesh. “Kallo says Aya reminds him of home, too,” she told him.

He was fascinated by the mass relay network, downloading nearly every reference to relay construction and mechanics for future reference. She suspected that had the angara evolved in the Milky Way, there would be no stopping them from disassembling a relay and endeavoring to master the technology the Council had deemed too dangerous to explore.

They explored the history of the Milky Way’s triumphs: the first Citadel Council, the story of all sorts of peoples coming together, mostly peacefully. And they did not neglect the stories of the bad times, either: The Rachni Wars, the Krogan Rebellions, the turians’ council seat paid for with the weapon of the genophage, and the resulting integration of turians into a thriving galactic society to become the third council race.

“Only three?” he asked, puzzled. “But there were so many other peoples at that point.” He listed them off, pronouncing each alien name so carefully. “Hanar, elcor, batarian, volus, quarian?”

“Only three,” she confirmed.

“Mm. I see.”

“We have a lot of room to do better.” They turned towards the next projection, a holotour of the planet the turians were born from.

“Of all your homeworlds I’ve learned about, I think I’d like to visit Palaven the most. ‘A silver world of fortresses and fire.’ Hmph. It sounds wonderful, and different from anything I’ve ever seen.”

“I’ve been there,” she told him. “I was just a kid, coming along with my parents on one of the human delegation’s visits. I absolutely hated being bathed in sunscreen, because the Palaven sunlight would bake my skin right off, but it was worth it to witness the planet firsthand.”

Hanar poetry was viewed and wondered at, and elcor oratory, and quarian dance. They studied vids of vistas from across the distant galaxy, dozens of worlds full of light and life.

“So much to leave behind,” he murmured. “Do you ever regret your choice in coming here?”

“Never,” she replied. “The places, the history we left behind, but the people, they’re all here. Or coming, anyway. I can’t wait to see what the Initiative becomes, if we can get everyone working together. No way I could miss out on this.”

Something twisted in her gut, thinking of how much Enele had already missed. She hated how he had been left behind this way, sleeping in.

Jaal noticed her sudden shift in mood. “Something troubles you.”

“My brother… I wish he wasn’t stuck sleeping through the adventure, you know?”

He nodded, sympathy clear in his expression.

“I’m going to visit him,” she decided. “Even if he can’t hear me…”

“You will be together,” Jaal finished for her, “And that makes all the difference.”

***

Enele had been moved from the main medbay with its long open rows of beds for waking colonists to a single-bed long-term care room. Masina appreciated the privacy, though it was disheartening in its implications. This part of the Hyperion’s medical wing was mostly empty this evening—a scattered few others were recovering from cryostasis complications, her brother the most senior and severe case among them.

Enele looked more wasted then when they left for Aya. _So much of the human body carries a ‘use it or lose it’ policy._ He was thinner, the loss of muscle mass and tone was obvious. _Tubes in, tubes out. Kept alive by so much machinery._ She didn’t want to look at it, didn’t want to think about it. The angaran taboo on illness suddenly made much more sense to her.

His hair was longer, and a bit unkempt. She lifted his head and tried to smooth down the tangled strands. He felt far too fragile to be the man who had shielded squads from explosions and fended off batarian pirates.

_This sucks, sleepyhead._

She pulled up the lonely chair in the room and sat by his bed.

Someone had put an Initiative uniform and his omni-tool on the table by his bedside, waiting for him to wake up. His amp sat in a vacuum-case beside them.

Dr. Carlyle had sent her a message when they’d had to pull Enele’s amp. While she was off making first contact, the medical staff here were trying to eliminate any extra strain on Enele’s body. Even passive, unutilized biotics carried a heavy energy cost.

Such a small device, to allow him to bend the fabric of reality. Her own biotics had manifested first, at the tender age of twelve-and-a-half. So many of their friends had been frightened off by her unpredictable new biotic flares, but Enele had refused to be intimidated. He’d given her just as much crap as always, even when she accidentally tossed him across the room. His own biotics had manifested about six months later, only a few weeks before she was scheduled to ship off to the shiny new Jon Grissom Academy for training, among the first few biotic children to participate in the Ascension Project.

It was the closest she had ever come to leaving him behind. The prospect had terrified her. They were a team, they would always be a team, right?

_Now I’m off saving the Initiative without you. I’m so sorry, tuagane_.

_You’re gonna have so much to catch up on once you wake up. I have so many people for you to meet. So much I wish I could tell you._

She took his hand in her own. Even touching him, she felt like he was so far away.

“ _Masina.”_ SAM spoke to her on their private channel. _“I believe I have information relevant to your brother’s care.”_

_What is it, SAM?_ she asked.

“ _Your brother is fitted with an implant identical to yours,”_ SAM explained. _“Though neural systems controlling his physiology and sensory processing predominantly remain in a stasis-like state, his cognitive processes remain intact. I believe I can make contact with his seat of consciousness.”_

_What would that mean?_ she asked. _Is he okay?_

“ _You can ask him yourself. I am able to facilitate a connection between your implants. You could speak with him, through a private channel similar to our own.”_

_Wait, really?_ She smiled over at her brother. _I can really talk to him?_

SAM apparently took her wide goofy smile at the possibility as an authorization.

“ _Connection successful. You may proceed.”_

_Tuagane?_ she thought. _You in there?_

_Masina? What… is this a dream?_ Enele’s synthesized voice echoed through her implant, in her mind.

_It’s me, your worst nightmare!_ she thought back, unable to help herself.

_Right. Now I know it’s really you._ The corners of his mouth twitched, eyes crinkled, in a tiny ghost of a smile. _This is…very strange. I can’t feel anything. Are we still in cryo? How are we talking like this?_

_SAM’s got our implants linked to talk like this,_ she replied. _I’m in your head, Enele._

‘ _Sina, you don’t act this silly unless something’s up. Tell me the truth. How bad is it—am I a brain in a jar?_

_I hear there’s a big market for that with hanar ladies,_ she replied, _but no. Your wake-up process from stasis got jacked up. You’re in a coma, we’re waiting for you to wake up naturally. You’re taking your damn time with it, by the way. Really sleeping in._

_How long have I been like this?_

_Six weeks._

_Damn, that long. Are we on Seven? Does New Earth have a good beach you can lay me on? If I’m gonna sleep in, tuafafine, I gotta do it in style._

_No… Habitat Seven was… Uninhabitable, unstable, destructive,_ she thought, unsure how much of her thoughts was being transferred through the implant. _Nobody could live there._ She wrenched her thoughts away from that disappointment. _We’re on the Hyperion, at the Nexus._

_And the other Habitats?_ he asked.

_Broken, or already inhabited, except for one,_ she replied. _Eos. It’s a bit of a dustball, but we’ve got a colony finally. Third time’s the charm._

_Dad’s not riding you too hard, is he?_ Enele asked. _I’m sure I’m just lost luggage to him by now._

… _Enele. I don’t know… Fuck, how the hell do I say this?_

_What, what is it?_ His face twitched in concern.

_There was an accident. He… didn’t make it. He’s dead._

_What? What do you… How, I mean…_

_Seven’s atmosphere had gone toxic,_ she explained, holding his hand tight. _I had a helmet rupture out of range of evac. Dad gave me his._

One of the monitors began a series of concerned beeps. Enele’s voice skipped slightly. _Oh, 'Sina, no… How are you holding up?_

_I’m mostly surviving,_ she replied, _and trying to make sure the Initiative does too._ _Dad forced the Pathfinder title to transfer over to me, and SAM--_

_He_ _ **what**_ _?!_ Enele’s face contorted in outrage. - _-did that to you?!--no, too much for one—need to be--need to wake up!--_

The machines beeped a fiercer tempo. A few shrill alarms began to sound. What had been words through the implant were now just fractured impulses: _Fear_ , and _Rage_ , and a straining desire to _Wake_.

And then, everything went suddenly, dreadfully quiet. Nothing from her implant, no noise from the machines.

_Enele?_ she thought at him. “Enele!” she shouted, shaking the hand she held.

“ _Masina,”_ SAM’s cool synthetic voice rang through her head. _“I have severed the connection, as Enele’s vitals were approaching critical limits. He has now stabilized.”_

_SAM, what happened back there?_

“ _The information provided to Enele through my link caused a surge in adrenaline and cortisol levels. He experienced significant psychological distress, which triggered physiological systems inimical to the healing process, to a degree it was necessary to terminate the connection.”_ SAM paused. _“I estimate it is highly probable Dr. Carlyle will discourage any further attempts to communicate until he regains natural consciousness.”_

_Is he still aware of those things?_ she asked.

_Is he shut up in his own head to grieve alone, with no one to reassure him?_

“ _My connection enhanced his neural processing to maintain a level of consciousness. I terminated this enhancement when his distress grew severe. Currently he has very limited neural activity, and lacks the capacity to dwell on anything, pleasant or unpleasant.”_

She looked back over her brother, trying once more to smooth down his hair. _Did I do the right thing, SAM?_ she asked.

“ _You responded to the question asked of you honestly,”_ SAM observed. “ _Your alternatives would have been to ignore the question entirely, or lie. My understanding of Enele’s personality is that to ignore the question would lead to him becoming more insistent for an answer, with an increasing stress profile the longer information is withheld until termination of the connection became required.”_

_And if I had lied to him?_ she asked. _Told him everything was ok? Would he have gotten better faster, to wake up sooner?_

“ _Possibly.”_

_Great. The Pathfinder strikes again._

“ _However,”_ SAM continued, _“on waking in any circumstance, the truth will be unavoidable. A lie may have supported his recovery while unconscious, but more severely hampered his recovery on waking. It would have…harmed your relationship with your brother. And I believe that may be more significant in the long term.”_

_Thanks, SAM._ She rose to leave.

“ _Masina.”_

_Yeah, SAM?_

“ _I would like to apologize. I was influenced by your feelings regarding your brother’s absence. I wished to give you a way to speak with him. I see now that the most likely outcomes of this variable result in a net loss. I pursued a resolution based on emotion, rather than logic. I… let your feelings get the best of me. I will endeavor to do better in the future, Pathfinder.”_

_SAM, I don’t have any algorithms to guide me or anything, but… Regardless of how it went, I’m grateful that I had the chance, just for a moment, to talk with my brother again. It was a choice worth the risk._

“ _Thank you, Ryder.”_

 


	6. History Lessons

As the Tempest made the long, brilliant flight towards his homeworld, Jaal settled into the tech lab--his delightful impromptu quarters here--and continued his work learning everything there was to know about the Initiative.

The screens before him displayed vistas of far off worlds, full of light and life, all different, all vibrant. It gave him hope for the future, for Heleus, that one day such visions would live here as well. Thessia’s vast palaces--each the life’s work of a single mind, improving it for a millennium. Their flowing, smooth lines so close to angaran architecture, but not quite; just a frequency away. Palaven’s fiery fortresses—how brilliantly they caught the light of their fierce sun! Earth, with its shining cities: London, Singapore, Vancouver. Sur’Kesh, of wild jungles and plunging waterfalls, almost a mirror to the angara's own sanctuary, their Aya.

In the past few hours, he had completed an abundance of sketches of alien art and architecture, contemplating how all the pieces worked as they came together to form a pleasing whole. They joined a host of sketches, notes, and schematics he had made since his time on the Tempest began. He had sent many of his better analyses back to his people already: vehicles and weaponry to be hybridized to the Resistance, science and history to Avela and the Moshae at the Repository, and even a select few pieces of endearing alien culture to his family on Havarl.

There was so much to examine, to learn all the pieces of a galactic civilization, and how they fit together. _To bring together the best of both to make a stronger whole._

He had sent his reports to Evfra via the QEC relay embedded in his ocular. Ideally, he had designed the device he wore to provide a live feed to Resistance Headquarters when he was out in the field, but the amount of data he could share was throttled by the space in his gear and the limitations of QEC bandwidth. Having to rely on reports and vidclips had been nerve-wracking for those at headquarters when he had first left with the Pathfinder crew, but now that his alien companions had been found trustworthy, distilling the wealth of information to it's most relevant components was far more efficient.

The Ama Daravs had already been known as a heroic, prestigious family before Evfra's Resistance, before the Gosavara. Their willingness to join the brave, blunt _kaaroan_ from Voeld led many other families on Havarl to also unite under the Resistance banner, rather than continuing to each fight their own private wars.

Evfra lost his family about nine years ago. He spent the first four or so years recovering, planning, and beginning to build the network that would become the Resistance. Did it start as a quest to free de Tershav's that might be held in the camps? Regardless, no living de Tershav's were found. Evfra prioritized coordination and preservation of life. Under him, the angara win and their fighters came home. He did not micromanage, and was willing to negotiate on things and listen to his people.

Many would have taken Evfra into their family, but he held himself separate. The Resistance was his focus now, and his family. He, and his people, could not afford the distraction while the kett still threatened.

Evfra would have had sons around Jaal's age now, had they survived. If things went as he hoped, if the war's end was truly in sight, well...it was not just Ryder who was in the business of adopting old warriors.

It occurred to him that his exchange with Evfra on the docks, the day the Moshae returned to Aya, when he had received Evfra's blessing to remain with the Pathfinder, had probably looked very brief to the aliens. Most of their conversation had been across their fields, with Jaal communicating his feeling of belonging here, of his trust for Ryder, his camaraderie and growing solidarity with the crew. Evfra's agreement had been with a reluctant acceptance: _This makes sense. I hate it. Do it if you want. Just don't be an idiot about it_. Evfra had been pleased by Ryder's choice to help angara over hurting kett, even if reducing kett 'recruitment' might have been more immediately and obviously beneficial to her people. The Resistance leader had also made the utilitarian observation that a bond between these aliens and one of his own would make it that much harder for them to turn on the angara.

And so it was here he would stay, for the forseeable future, to try to understand better these strange, remarkable people that wished to call Heleus home.

He had spent days studying in the cultural exchange—their entire stay on the Nexus, really. The station was so vast, exponentially greater in size and ambition than even the angaran stations of pre-scourge legends, and so strangely arranged. Even with maps and schematics he struggled to find his place in it all. The cultural center was both a delight to his mind and an accomodation for his sometimes-lacking sense of direction.

Yet for all the time he had spent there, he had only begun to peel back the very first layer of what made the Initiative work. The scope of the information available was so incredibly vast. He found he was still working to cover even their most prominent historical moments.

Ryder had accompanied him as he explored a small fraction of Milky Way history. A guide shows you what they wish you to see, true—but he _wanted_ to know what she wished him to see, and to see her enjoy those sights as well. The burdens of her position, and the absence of her family, clearly weighed heavily on her. What was it she had said to him? _“It does my heart good to see you happy.”_ He was thankful she had accepted his request to tour the histories of the exchange together.

Her smile was a joy to him, so alien and yet so clear. Just the thought of it brought a matching expression to his face. It was hard to imagine, now, that just a few short weeks ago he’d been considering strategies for how he might end her life had the Pathfinder proved to be an enemy of his people.

He fiddled with one of his mantle piercings as he continued to read, keeping a restless hand occupied with the ridges of raised lettering around the band. It was an adjustment, to have so much information to review and none of it read through his skin. Ryder had offered him copies of texts from her own studies, the data files filled with her own notes and annotations. _“Another outsider’s perspective might be useful,”_ she had said as she offered them. It was a kind gesture.

The quality of his own education was…lamentable. When the kett first showed their true intentions, betraying and attacking the angara across the cluster, among their first targets for destruction had been data infrastructure. Electromagnetic pulse bombings destroyed data and stunned angara alike, leaving future generations to scrounge for data stored in physical form, or to attempt to relearn lost insights with their own hands and tools, as he had. It was difficult to say how much knowledge had been lost in the eighty years since the kett arrived. The Initiative’s databanks were completely staggering in comparison. And the universities they described, where one might spend years at peace, devoted to learning, surrounded by not one but many experienced teachers…It sounded like paradise.

He had been short with Ryder, in his first few days on the ship, as she eagerly pursued more knowledge of his people. She had asked him things he _wished_ he knew _, ought_ to know, and a few things he had never even _thought_ to learn about. He had called her arrogant for it, for fear her Initiative might use this weakness against his people. By now he had realized that she had not meant to shame him; she simply took as much pleasure in learning and sharing knowledge as he did.

She delighted him, this remarkable woman that was the Pathfinder. They enjoyed each other, and had been spending more and more of the time could be spared in each others company. He had offered praise, and some mild flirtations. She had seemed to enjoy his words, and more than once he saw her admiring his form. He was unsure of what expectations her people had about such things, reserved as they were. Eventually, he suspected with a tired acceptance, the novelty would probably wear off, and she would realize he was far from impressive among his own people, and her attentions would move on.

Yet, she had brought hope to so many places where none lived before; perhaps this was no different. He was smiling at the very thought of her, he noticed. He turned back to his display. As with everything else in his life now, he would take that adventure one day at a time.

He scrolled through the texts she had provided. Beneath the initial, overly-positive veneer of the displays at the cultural exchange, the Milky Way histories appeared very open. And very… grey. The kett were clearly, unilaterally evil. The peoples of the Initiative were…diverse, in their moral choices as much as anything else. Kindnesses, outrages, kindnesses that become outrages… But then, was his own people’s history without stain or shame? Even before the kett arrived, divisions of belief, homeworld, even appearance, had sparked grievous conflicts between the angara. The Initiative equaled this… imperfect standard.

Presently, he was reading about the rescue of the drell species from their dying homeworld by the hanar species. _It seem like such an odd match._ _What must their first contact have looked like?_ he wondered. He struggled to imagine them… shaking hands. Though his own attempts at sharing greetings with the crew had been stilted at first, _they_ at least had the benefit of broadly similar anatomy. With a hanar, he wasn’t sure he’d have known where to look.

He acknowledged that despite the amusement of the initial image, the drell were essentially enslaved, a client race to serve their saviors. An agreement which after generations must wear on the soul of the drell people. He had read drell poetry about the ocean. _How tragic that the image of their afterlife would match a world that killed them as it saved them._ But, he understood the quarian ark has a large drell population. Hopefully they would find a new start here, a better life than an endless future as servants to their saviors.

He considered the image of the quarian ark, the Keelah Si’yah. The quarians intrigued and resonated with him. _We’re both displaced. Struggling against cruel enemies to save our homeworlds. When home is not safe, the heart is sick from yearning._

All pathfinders were partnered with an AI like SAM, he had learned, and there were supposed to be five of them, each relating to the five arks: human, turian, salarian, asari, and quarian. _Does the quarian pathfinder also use one of these SAM AI? Given their history, I would think such a partnership would be…uncomfortable_.

The quarians were the final species to have been assigned an ark, and each race upon it a Pathfinder. The krogan were notable in the absence of one so titled among them, one of many discrepancies he had found regarding their species. Depictions of the krogan in the Initiative histories seemed…inconsistent, even when describing the same events or individuals. Was Shiagur an honored mother, or a dangerous, destructive warlord? Were the krogan heroes, who saved the Citadel allies from being consumed by the karkyn-like rachni species, or were they violent criminals who endangered all near them?

He knew the krogan were possessed with incredible lifespans, clans like daara… and this thing called ‘ _genophage,_ ’ spoken of with the delicate hush of disease. Whatever the genophage was, he knew the salarians had made it, and the turians, new to the galactic civilization, had deployed it, and this had ended the (fairly just, to his mind) krogan rebellions. For bringing peace, the turians were offered a seat in leadership, one that the volus, elcor, and hanar, who had been a part of Citadel society far longer, were not granted. It was all horrendously unfair.

But this was not the first time Jaal had encountered fractured and contradictory histories. The years he’d spent hunting knowledge, and his brief stint as a student of the Moshae, ensured he was long past requiring the truth to be set before him. And what better opportunity to learn of krogan history than to ask the most elder among them, who worked even now scarce meters below where he sat?

Jaal went looking for Nakmor Drack.

***

From outside the galley door he could hear Drack’s grumbling landslide voice, paired with an unfamiliar one, a softer thunder not entirely dissimilar to Drack’s own. The door slid open before him, revealing Drack’s broad back as the old man continued a comm call.

Jaal coughed politely, to announce his presence. He was not sure how good krogan senses were, but he’d found himself sneaking up on the human crew members without intending to, despite their superior hearing. The old man rolled one big yellow eye over to look at him and waved him inside, still focused on his current conversation. Jaal’s translator skipped and popped a bit on their language. _A family dialect, perhaps?_

He picked out the word _taan_ \--no, it was _Tann_ , the name of the incompetent salarian. The words began coming together more clearly. The softer voice was speaking. “While Tann blathered on about offering the angara ‘our _knowledge_ and _wisdom_ ,’ I talked with some of their delegation about getting some of those frequency-coded seals they use. Thanks for telling me about those, by the way.”

Jaal observed that Drack had been working on his weapon during the call, his shotgun disassembled on the kitchen table. It was a familiar sight, cooking and weaponry; it reminded him of home. Sahuna, his _vaasavaan_ , could often be found tinkering with a meal in the family’s kitchen, and always with her rifle in arms reach.

“And that care package I sent with you…” The speaker’s tone was chiding, but with familiar affection. “Don’t just stick it in the cabinet until you ‘really need it.’ I can get more hexchat cores a lot faster than I can build you a new knee, old man.”

“Aww _, ru’shan_ ,” Drack replied, “You know I always come back in one piece.”

“I hope you make it a functional piece,” This ‘ _ru’shan_ ’ said with a dry humor he immediately related to. “Don’t give the Pathfinder too much trouble,” they added.

Drack gave a fond, chuckling farewell. Such familiar, endearing, understandable behavior. _Another way in which they are not so alien._

“What’cha need, kid?” Drack asked, turning to him. “Hope you’re not going back to that paste you got in here. You do what you gotta to survive, but that’s about the least appetizing stuff I’ve seen passed off as food in a while, and I’ve eaten some weird shit in my day.”

“I find your cooking quite sufficient,” Jaal reassured him, “and the generosity you and Ryder have extended to me regarding meals is greatly appreciated.” Jaal leaned against the cabinetry, propping a leg against the counter foot-and-hock. He took a moment to study the old man. Drack was as of now still the only krogan he had met. The rest of them, he understood, had left the Nexus by choice, to seek their own way. He had discovered Drack to be bluntly kind, a mentor to the rest of the crew as they needed. The bones he adorned himself with were not, as Jaal had once speculated, to celebrate life through reverence for death as some cultures among the angara did. Rather, it was to hide his more approachable nature behind a facade of predatory menace. Yet Drack was very capable of defending himself, and seemed to relish combat to a rather frightening degree. Who did he wish to intimidate, then? What in his long life gave him reason to hide away the better parts of himself? And, was whatever the old krogan was guarding against a threat to the _angara_ as well?

The old man took his silence as an invitation to study him as well. His eyes, so similar to angara, were easy for Jaal to read. He could feel the thrums and pops of energy fields in Drack’s many prostheses as he settled in to chat.

“I’ve been reading about your histories,” Jaal began. “Your people's, and yours specifically.”

“Careful,” Drack chided him. “Krogan have a saying: history’s written by the victors.”

Jaal paused to consider that, in light of his own people’s fragmented histories. _Who will be writing the history of Heleus in a generation? And what will they have to say about the angara?_

“What was your galaxy like, Drack?”

“If you back up far enough, same as this one. Big rocks floating in the void.”

“And if you look…closely?”

“Aliens killing each other for reasons that don’t seem worth it.”

“Mm. So, still the same.”

He’d heard of Drack’s age from members of the crew, and read it in the archives on the Nexus, and run the conversions over a few times himself to be sure of such a staggering number. _It is humbling, to remember he has seen twelve times the years of our most revered elder._

“You’re older than some civilizations,” he noted.

“Personally made sure of it a couple’a times,” Drack agreed, turning back to his partially assembled weapon.

“To have lived so long, seen so much... You have watched peoples rise and fall, conflicts play out across the lifetimes of other species. I wonder, how do you see us, in our struggle against the kett?”

“You’re a lot tougher than you look, to have lasted this long. Can’t be easy living under the kett boot.” Drack clipped the last few pieces of his Ruzad together, setting the weapon down with an air of finality “Strong, honorable survivors. Galaxy apart, and we’re not so different.”

“You had the kett, we had salarians. No matter where we go, there’s always somebody thinking they’re better than you.”

Jaal considered implications of that statement, the sorrow that evil is everywhere and the camaraderie in not being alone to suffer and withstand it. Though he still wasn’t sure he understood what it was the krogan had suffered.

“You’ve been too damn trusting, though.” Drack added. “Still are, to be honest. Ryder’s all right, but I ain’t ready to pin the future of my people on her. Not yet, anyway.”

“Were the krogan that first encountered the salarians so different, gifted with weapons and access to the stars?” Jaal countered.

“Probably not, but that doesn’t mean you all need to go makin’ the same mistakes we did.” The old man shook his head. “And Aya’s too damn clean,” Drack added grumpily.

“Well, perhaps we’re not _exactly_ the same,” he said. His expression of polite concern set Drack to laughing.

“You have achieved so much, Drack,” Jaal observed, when the old krogan’s laughter had trailed off. “Your family must think very highly of you.”

“Yeah, sometimes,” Drack replied. “Sometimes I piss everyone off. And there’s been times I’ve done some damn stupid things to try and prove I was worth somethin’ to somebody,” he finished, catching Jaal with a _very_ pointed glance. _The old man is smarter than he looks_ , Jaal thought.

“We been on our own a long time,” Drack continued, “Got pretty used to only fending for our own. Easy, to think impressing kin and clan’s all you gotta do in life. But nobody’s got the right to tell you how your life oughta look, ‘cept you, kid. I didn’t get to where I am now by followin’ somebody else’s plan. Hell, I didn’t have any sorta plan for a lotta years.”

“Mm.” Jaal considered that. “It seems…chaotic. And…familiar. I joined the Resistance to fight kett in a war many of my people believe will never end. Many of my siblings have chosen to fight for us as well: among them we have a commander, three squad captains, two black ops specialists, a pilot that leads one of the shuttle wings that defends Aya. …And that does not begin to describe the achievements of my mothers, their siblings, my cousins…”

“That many siblings common to you guys?” Drack asked, surprised.

“Yes. We have…large families. Strength, in numbers.”

“Yeah, krogan used to run that show. Careful.”

Jaal needed to know exactly what dangers his people might face, and to do that, he had to ask… Implications in the archives seemed to show the krogan were attacked with a weapon that was…also some sort of infection. It would be incredibly rude to ask about such an illness, any illness, but, how else could he protect his people from a threat he could not even imagine?

“Drack…Can we talk about what your people call…the genophage?”

“You want me to just casually talk about one of the most painful things about being krogan?”

“…Yes? Would you rather I not know how you feel about it, and base my opinions on what the other Initiative species tell me?”

Drack sighed heavily. For a moment it was not hard to believe he had seen so many centuries.

“Family is everything to krogan,” he began. “So the salarians built a weapon to take that away from us, and the turians deployed it for them. They went back to their fancy Citadel as heroes, said they saved their squishy asses from being overrun by the krogan. Said it’d mean we could all have peace.

“I’m not sure I understand what you’re talking about. They tried to take _family_ from you?” Jaal asked, baffled. “ _How_?”

And so Drack told him, told him of the dead clutches, infants so still within the egg, slain before they could hope to fight. Told him of the heartbreak of his people, as they realized this was no cursed season, no bad year: this was reality now for the krogan people. And so the clans fell apart, proud matriarchs becoming prized commodities to be warred over for the small chance they might produce living offspring. So many krogan became aimless, hopeless, mercenaries to die in the wars of others. What’s the point of fighting for a future that’s born dead?

Jaal listened, overwhelmed with horror, and with sorrow. He felt the echo of the krogan’s impossible pain with tears trailing down his cheeks. Drack studied him like the sight of a man weeping for all his people had lost was something no krogan had ever seen before.

And, as he mourned what was and what is, he spared a thought to what might be. _The angara fight every day to remember who we are and what we are fighting for, to keep hold of the vision of peace in a war that has gone on for as long as almost any of us can remember. Surely, things slip away. If the war should last much longer, if it stretches on for generations more, would our people also forget, becoming as the krogan became, letting war define us?_

“Family is everything to the angara, too. There is, a _bond_ there," Jaal said, considering the old man before him. “I realize now the krogan were once not so different from my own people. And, if all goes well, may grow again more similar. ”

Drack studied him a moment, and gave him a nod. He saw the common ground as well.

Jaal continued. “I hope that your family will one day be free of such…abomination. Let us know if we might arrange some exchange to support your efforts. I know many of our researchers. Perhaps, together, we might find a way to right the wrongs against both our peoples.”

Drack nodded. “Nakmor’s stronger than most, and this trip…time… let’s just say we’re working on it. You should talk with Kesh. My granddaughter. That’s who I was talkin’ with when you came by. She’s already been working out deals with your people on the Nexus.”

“I thought the krogan had all left the station?” Jaal asked.

“Most of Nakmor’s done with Tann’s Nexus. We’ve got our own colony now. Figured that even if the rest of the Initiative species die out, we’ll survive.” Drack stood, pulling out kitchen tools to begin preparations for the evening meal. They seem poorly sized for his hands, Jaal observed. _Perhaps angaran utensils would suit him better…_

“Nexus brass woulda loved to see Kesh off that station with the rest of us. My ru’shan’s special—she’s keeping them honest.”

 _A task not so different from my own purpose here_ , he noted. “A valuable ability, ensuring honesty. How does she do it?”

“By bein’ aware, bein’ needed, and keeping the whole damn thing afloat. Kesh’s superintendent on the Nexus.” A sparkle of amusement came into the old man’s eye. “Send her enough deals, she might sit down and tell you how the place works.”

“She sounds…impressive. I would like to meet her. Perhaps next time we are on the Nexus?”

“Maybe. I’ll take you, but I haven’t seen them let even one angara up into Operations.”

“A double benefit then,” Jaal replied, “to know where we stand.”

“Huh,” Drack considered him with rather grandfatherly approval. “So you have been listening.”

“Very closely.”

***

Jaal was considering the safety on his rifle. Among the most basic modifications he had made to the Lanat when he had first captured the weapon from the kett, the angaran gun safety could only be disengaged by the bioelectric manipulations of an adult angara. Such devices kept household weapons safe from children in a reality that necessitated families always be prepared for kett attacks, and they prevented angaran weapons from being used against them by the kett on the field of battle.

And now, it also locked out his allies and friends. Should they ever need to take up his weapon, it would be of use to them only as a bludgeon. Yet his distaste at the thought of a kett being able to use his superb work had made him hesitate, as did recent revelations about the depravity Initiative species had inflicted upon each other in the past. He put the gun aside as it was.

They were too alike sometimes, the Initiative and the kett. For all the importance of their differences, there was an eerie similarity. What did that say, he wondered, about himself, or the Initiative, or who and what the kett might have been? What did it say about the nature of the universe and the place of the angara within it?

 _My task now is to assess the Initiative and assist the Pathfinder,_ he told himself, _to be a guide for her in angaran space, and an envoy to her people._

Some said he was a fool for trusting them, much less loving them.

And he did love his new friends, even if they were aliens.

The Initiative was not unilaterally abhorrent like the kett. _They are made of individuals, as different from each other as we are,—or more. They’re people, like us, so like us, they must be assessed individually._

Many of his people would want simple answers. There was clearly a possibility of a good future of partnership between their peoples. _But it will not be without conflict, any more than we were without conflict after the scourge disaster, after we rediscovered each other and tried to fit our shattered people back together._

Hopefully, the Initiative had learned from their histories, to build a better future here. _But how will we fit in, and they with us?_ _Five new peoples, each with their own culture, history, values, with more due to arrive on the final ark._

Ryder was tavetaan, _trustworthy_ , and her crew seemed to be as well. Yet his friends on the Tempest didn’t trust their own leaders.

Tense histories were overcome by personal bonds here. The krogan had been afflicted with an abomination by the salarians and the turians, but he sensed no animosity between Drack, Kallo, and Vetra. At least, none that did not revolve around the volume of certain salarian drama serials. (Jaal had watched these with Kallo while the others attended to their lengthy sleep schedules. He would defend them as an invaluable cultural exchange at any volume, no matter Vetra’s ire.)

The seeds of alliance had been planted; now they would all see how they might grow.

He began preparing reports. He would share the information he had learned with his contacts: Resistance, researchers, traders, family and friends. And…

He began going through his contacts, looking for ones he might connect with Nakmor Kesh. _It is not up to me to determine what shape the future might hold, but I will build bridges where I can._

 

 


	7. The Strangest Kett

“Skutt! Skutting stars!” The newly unfrozen researcher exclaimed. “What…How did… Who are?”

“Easy,” Masina tried to reassure him. “It’s okay. We’re the good aliens.”

“Stay back!” the researcher exclaimed, taking an unsteady step away. He surveyed the scene with eyes blown wide. “More aliens, out of nowhere…and…Jaal?”

Masina sighed. _Looks like we’re going to have a_ _ **lot**_ _to explain._

***

Research assistant Torvar eventually was convinced, with a lot of dry statements from Jaal, that she and Liam were not in fact going to hurt him and by deactivating the remnant stasis field had actually saved him and his cohorts.

The three of them waded through the flurry of questions as best they could on the hike back to the research outpost in the ruins of Daar Pelaav, here in the wildest region of Havarl.

Liam remarked on their essentially perfect health. “If only all rescues came out so well. Just a little jet lag.”

“We’ve never encountered a field like that,” Ryder noted curiously. “Not at any of the remnant sites we’ve visited, with everything we’ve activated. And I’ve activated a lot of remtech.”

The scientists were an amusing mix of eager and apprehensive regarding Ryder. “An alien who can use remtech?! The implications…”

“We have run across stasis fields like this a few times, or similar effects,” Torvar explained. “It is difficult to undo, but not impossible. Researchers have been found outside the entrance of remnant sites, disoriented, with gaps in their memories, as if the site was trying to keep them from meddling too deep. Evading such countermeasures is...delicate work,” he added sheepishly. “You interface with remnant regularly—you haven’t encountered anything like this?”

“The remnant skip past ‘dissuade’ straight to trying to kill us,” Ryder replied. “Guess they must like you better.”

***

Daar Pelaav was a ruin, a town shattered by the environment. Jaal had explained that the biosphere of Havarl had been showing signs of increasing instability. The research outpost was hanging on, barely. There was a wild beauty to this place, pods of manta traveling across the sky, basking in the light of Uusarl, the swirling, vibrant gas giant that seemed to take up half of Havarl’s sky and turned the planet’s night to delicate twilight.

The lead researcher at the outpost was a woman named Kiiran Dals. The rest of the team consisted of Torvar and his crew, a number of support staff, and Luj Ansen from the Repository. Jaal greeted him as ‘old man Luj’ and seemed to know him well. Luj was stuck here, and damn grumpy about it. “Thorny vine grew into his bunk yesterday, and a branch pierced his shuttle core the day before,” the old man had told them. “I’m ready to be rid of this wild place, but apparently I’m not priority personnel. If you venture out into the jungle, watch out for plants when you’re out there. _Vicious_ things.”

“Thank the stars you got Torvar and his team back safe,” Kiiran said at their return. “When he and his crew put in a report of strange kett in the area, then went silent, we feared the worst.”

“They moved off from the ruins pretty quick,” Torvar reassured her. “It was almost like the tech spooked them. Odd looking creatures. I’ve never seen a kett with mandibles before.”

_Mandibles?_ Masina thought _. That would make them look like_... _oh shit_. “Wait. Are we sure they were kett? What did their armor look like? Do you have images?”

The scientist scoffed. “Didn’t want to get close, or attract attention. They didn’t see us in the night. We wanted to keep it that way.”

“Just humor me. Did they look anything like this?” Masina said, pulling up on her omni-tool the first image she could find of turians: a recruitment poster for Ark Natanus.

“Yes!” Torvar exclaimed. “Just like that! Weird kett!”

Kiiran glanced from Jaal to Ryder and back. “What are they,” she asked, “and should I be as worried as you two look?”

“They are not kett, Kiiran,” Jaal explained. “Those are turians, one of the other Initiative species.”

“We lost contact with the turian ark. They might be survivors from the Natanus,” Masina speculated. “If the escape pods launched… They’d be refugees, might be injured, and surely low on supplies.”

“Kiiran?” Jaal asked. The woman looked mortified.

“With the delay in Jaal’s arrival,” Kiiran explained, “and the sightings of ‘strange kett’ in the forest, I requested help from elsewhere. The Roekaar answered my call.”

“And you sent them straight for the turian refugees in the wilds.” Masina finished for her. “Shit.”

“Do not blame yourselves for this,” Jaal told the mortified researchers. “When I first met Ryder’s crew, I nearly made the same mistake. You could not have known.”

“Still, Pathfinder, I have put your people in great danger,” Kiiran said. “If we could not tell them from the kett, I doubt Roekaar troops will be more discerning.”

_Frightened, possibly injured colonists clashing with angara enraged against aliens. Well, that’s a recipe for pointless bloodshed if there ever was one. I felt like today was going too easy._

_I just hope we can find them first._

***

“ _Ryder.”_ SAM pinged her, as she prepared supplies for the rescue mission. _“A calendar alert.”_

_Really, SAM?_ she asked as she finished slotting more dextro-safe emergency supplies into her gear pouches.

“ _Your twenty-third birthday will begin in forty-eight Earth standard hours, or thirty-seven Citadel standard hours.”_ SAM said. _“Do you intend to do anything to celebrate it?”_

_Pretty sure I’m going to be busy trying to help out on the angaran homeworld, SAM, and that’s awesome enough for me. Even if we’re back to the ship by then, don’t make a big deal about it, okay?_

“ _You have never celebrated without your brother before,”_ SAM observed.

_Yeah. And I don’t want to celebrate without him now,_ she thought at SAM. _We’ll do something when he wakes up._

_SAM_ , she asked, pausing from her packing, _Do you have a birthday?_

“ _Unclear_ ,” the AI replied. “ _I went through several prototype iterations that developed my hardware and software, several of which could be considered the start of my existence. Does a birthday count if it isn’t celebrated?”_

_It counts if you want it to count_ , she replied thoughtfully, _even if it’s not accurate. Lots of things work that way._

As she finished securing the last few straps of her cargo belt, she felt a sudden spike of vertigo., She raised a hand to clutch at her spinning head in a vague attempt steady herself. She reeled with nauseating disorientation, momentarily losing where she was entirely. Bizarrely, she was assaulted with the strong smell of coffee and hot solder.

SAM’s concerned voice brought her back to herself.

“What was that?” she asked aloud, taking a moment to lean against the wall of the research building and steady herself.

“ _Apologies,”_ SAM replied. _“I did not expect you would experience such a strong physiological response. We have unlocked an encryption protecting a memory and associated semantic information possessed by your father.”_

“Oh,” she said, still trying to catch her breath. “Okay, right. So, what’s in it?”

“… _unclear. The data requires a similar platform to be viewed as it was created on.”_

“Meaning?”

“ _To access the memories, they must be run on a human brain, and one with which I have integrated.”_

She leaned back against the wall with an exasperated smile. “So, I’m your vidplayer now?”

“ _Unfortunately, the comparison is apt.”_

“I like to think I’m a better actor than a theater, SAM,” she said with a wry grin. “And this isn’t the time or place for weird brain adventures. Let’s put this on hold until we’re done on Havarl, okay?”

“ _I concur. With assistance from Dr. Anwar, I have located several points in the surrounding area with statistically notable concentrations of dextro-proteins. I have placed several markers on your HUD that I believe are least likely to be due to mutations in the biosphere.”_

“Got it,” she said, feeling steady enough to head back out. “Do you think Liam knows any old vid references for ‘welcome to the jungle?’”

“ _Given my exhaustive analysis of Milky Way media, I highly suspect he does.”_

***

They started off through the wilds towards the last known location of the turian survivors. The jungle was a vibrant cacophony of vivid blues and pinks and violet. Masina found it was dangerously easy to lose track of Jaal in this environment--the colors of his gear, and even his skin, which were so eye-catching on the Tempest, blended perfectly here. They passed under broad, shimmering azure leaves, each one large enough to cover all of them. Their form and movement echoed the shape of his fluttering rofjinn. _No_ , she corrected herself, _it echoes them. That’s what it’s designed to do_.

They paused on the edge of the shattered bridgeway leading from the research station to the true ruins of Daar Pelaav. The upheaval in the landscape was clear: the smooth white lines of angaran architecture twisted into piles of scrap amid the tortured jungle plants.

“Well,” Liam muttered, “guess we won’t be going that way—"

She grinned. _Heavy is: ahead!_ She cut him off with the _snap_ of her biotics. She reappeared just short of the platform across the gap. Her flight wobbled as she pulled herself close enough to grab the dangling rebar and pull herself up. She stood triumphant on the ragged lip of the bridgeway, hands on her hips. “Coming, boys?” she called.

Liam crossed with jump jets, and a little boost from her biotics. Jaal had no trouble clearing the gap and climbing the twisted structure _. Grabby feet sure have their advantages,_ she noted, impressed.

As they traveled past the ruined daar and into the jungle proper, Masina was struck with a sense of unease. Havarl was vibrant, full of life; yet underneath the abundance she had the creeping feeling that something was very wrong here.

Lush trees all around them showed signs of abnormal growth patterns, old dying wood rotting around new growth bursting through it, shattering itself with its own vigor and distorted by its own decay. The small plants of the forest floor turned to slime beneath their feet. Jaal cautioned them not to get any of the substance on their skin. It all looked healthy enough, then it _melted_.

“It’s almost like what we saw on Seven, but accelerated somehow. Is all of Havarl like this?” she asked.

“No,” Jaal explained. “In most regions, life appear far more stable. One would have to look very hard to see the signs of this…degradation, but that does not mean they are absent. You can bleed under the skin and not see it. The wound’s still there. Comparisons with our oral histories, and the world our elders remember, seem to indicate it was not always this way.”

_The vaults are a terraforming network_ , she reasoned. _Could they affect more than the weather, the chemical composition of the atmosphere and soil? No, that can’t be it. How could remtech possibly influence the flora of a biosphere like this, on a cellular level? SAM, your thoughts?_

“ _The vault remains the most likely culprit,”_ SAM stated. “ _Depictions of Heleus from the Eos and Aya vault maps did not show that this system contained an active vault, however the biosphere appears to be undergoing sporadic maintenance.”_

_Let me guess: somebody didn’t_ _**reboot it properly** _ _?_

“ _I cannot say for certain without more data, but I believe that is a promising theory,”_ SAM told her earnestly.

“Havarl wasn’t shown as an active vault on the network—but I guess it must be working, sort of,” Masina noted to the others. “Why would it just be unbalanced here, when it completely shut down on Eos and Voeld?”

“All planets start different,” Jaal reasoned. “If broken, they’d also break differently.”

They continued on through the seething, shattering jungle. Masina followed Jaal mostly by tracking his mass signature. Keeping track of him by sight continued to be challenging, and trying to hear his movements had always been a lost cause.

Strange creatures scurried away at the party’s approach. _They’re like some sort of fuzzy terrestrial sea star,_ she observed _, fluffy bundles of tentacles trying to hide in whatever ferns don’t melt around them._ Some of the stragglers looked…wrong, their body features doubled. _It’s like someone ran fabricator twice without removing the first printing._ She called Jaal back, asked if this was common. He advised her to take some scans for Kiiran. The grove of fuzzy forest floor dwellers was a dark, sheltered place, as good as any to stop and learn a little more about the world they walked in.

“So what’s up with these Roekaar guys?” Liam asked.

Jaal paused before answering, considering his words carefully. “The first priority of the Resistance is to defend our people, to ensure we survive to have a future. The Roekaar fight out of vengeance, to destroy our enemies at any cost.” He considered his human companions gravely. “And they have not yet been convinced your people are not an enemy. They believe that the angara are the only good and trustworthy people in the universe.”

“But this is not what the Roekaar always were. The name was once held by a religious order. Guardian warriors, who believed to reclaim the memories of past lives would grant them the prowess needed to defend our people. _They_ chose to disband in name to join the Resistance, an act that caused the majority of other fighting cells across the planet to follow them into unity under Evfra. Many still speak highly of those Roekaar for their heroism”.

“An angry young man took the name and the strength of its legacy to draw followers, but twisted it to suit his own rage. He recruited those of like mind, those who were dismissed from the Resistance for infighting and failure to follow orders when others’ lives were at risk. These new Roekaar support extermination of the kett by any means necessary, even if it means rendering the land uninhabitable by angara as well.”

“And should the Roekaar attack, and your people defend themselves…” Jaal looked very concerned. “For them to extend their hatred of the kett to all aliens would be very easy.”

“So they’re angaran Terra Firma then?” Liam asked. He sighed. “Same shit, different day.”

Jaal looked expectantly between them, obviously waiting for elaboration.

Masina loosely explained the Terra Firma party. “They were a human political faction, back on our homeworld. ‘Earth first, humans first, aliens can’t be trusted, we’re better off going it alone, rah bah bah.’”

“I got in a barfight with one,” Liam told them. “Broke his nose. Got thrown out. So worth it.”

Jaal considered their words as if contemplating some profound knowledge about the nature of sentients in the universe, before finally nodding. “I know their leader, Akksul. We were students together under the Moshae. But, unlike me, he was a good student. The best, actually.”

“He studied remnant?” she asked. “How’d a remnant expert end up leading an extremist group?”

“He did. He was… captured, by the kett,” Jaal explained, his voice heavy. “He spent a year in a forced labor camp before he managed to escape.”

“I can’t imagine what he must have been through,” she said.

“He has scars that would give you an idea. When Akksul returned, he no longer cared about the remnant, or… _anything_ , except destroying the kett.”

“And the Resistance wasn’t good enough for him?” Liam asked.

“Akksul is not the type to follow orders,” Jaal answered, “And, I think he was bitter we weren’t able to rescue him.”

“So he went and formed the Roekaar,” Masina finished for him. “His own private army against the kett.”

“We didn’t give them much thought.” Jaal continued with a shrug. “But, since your people arrived, his cause has grown. Many of us have questions about your people, and Akksul has given them…simple answers.”

“And not friendly ones, I’m guessing,” Masina said. “Can we talk to the Roekaar, make them understand the turians, us, none of us are a threat? With you with us…”

“They are…not fond of the Resistance,” Jaal explained. “Even before your people arrived, the Roekaar had a history of stealing Resistance supplies, undermining our efforts for theirs. My presence may not protect us.”

“Ryder,” he continued. “I admire your dedication to peaceful solutions, but I’m afraid the situation may have escalated already. Best to reconnaissance first. If the Roekaar have found your people already… Going quietly and avoiding all contact may be the best route to avoid bloodshed.”

Ryder nodded, closing her scanner. “We need to find them before the Roekaar do. I hope we’re not already too late.”

“ _Ryder, Doctor Anwar and I have collaborated on an additional sensor sweep and analysis for dextro lifeforms and Initiative ship debris. I have marked the most promising location,”_ SAM said, directing them deeper in the seething jungle. Jaal continued slipping in and out of the underbrush, almost invisible even without cloaking.

She lost track of Jaal momentarily. There was a quick burst of gunfire ahead, and she hurried forward—to find a trio of dead challyrions in their path. Jaal was frightening stealthy and efficient.

They caught up to Jaal in a clearing containing one of old Pelaav’s data nodes. Trees and vines wove improbably through the somehow still functional device. He worked to quickly recover some viable data before they moved on.

“Lot of Initiative tech on the scanners,” Masina called to the others. “Eyes open.”

They found the crash site, strewn with escape pods and spacecraft scrap but completely empty of turians.

“Looks like the whole pod bay was jettisoned.” Masina said, picking over the ruins. “Would have been an act of desperation, in the face of catastrophic damage to the ark. The Natanus’s SAM would have programmed the pod bay to aim for the nearest habitable world, with one-use emergency FTL drives.”

“ _What data remains in the pod bay’s emergency navigation system notes no further pods jettisoned with this one,”_ SAM told her. _“Ryder, the data appears…unstable. I am concerned for the state of my counterpart on the Natanus.”_

They examined the rest of the camp. The pods and scrap had been set up in a loose ring, intentionally placed together.

“Fortifications?” Jaal suggested.

“Hopefully precautions against the local wildlife,” Masina replied.

“You don’t need prodigious amounts of waist high cover for wildlife,” Liam scoffed.

“Ryder, here.” Jaal called from where he knelt examining the makeshift shelters. “These are scorch marks from an angaran assault weapon,” he said, rising to his feet. “ A small force attacked here, and then retreated to regroup. Your turian colonists appear to have utilized this chance to move to a more defensible location.”

“Standard military strategies,” Masina nodded. “They’re not panicking, that’s good. But these pods have been here for weeks. Their supplies have got to be running low, and they can’t digest anything they could forage here.”

“Way ahead of you, Ryder.” Liam said. “I’ve got food and medical supplies to fix and feed double the amount of pods here, all dextro-safe. We find them, I’ll make sure they’re good to move.”

They were able to pick up the turians' trail quickly, scanning for traces of dextro amino acids. Drops of blood, shed skin cells--things the Roekaar wouldn’t have been able to detect without already knowing what they were looking for. A winding hike led them into the mouth of a deep canyon between remnant spires.

“Defensive bottleneck,” Jaal noted. He glanced around, the reflective membranes in the depths of his eyes catching the light in flashes of deepest blue. “If I were your turian refugees, I would set up spotters…Ah, there they are.”

“Where, I don’t see anyone?”

“There, on the outcropping, and there, on that ledge--you can see how their plates catch the light.”

“Stay close, Jaal,” she told him. “They’ll probably be a little tense at the sight of an angara. We need to make it obvious you’re a friendly one.”

He nodded, holstering his rifle. And they walked calmly into the open, in full view of the turian spotters. She heard the buzz of subharmonics calling out to each other. One of the spotters stood, waving them into the canyon.

A group of turians awaited them inside the mouth of the canyon, weapons held at the ready.

She stepped forward to greet them. “Masina Ryder, human Pathfinder.”

“Avitus Rix, second to Pathfinder Macen Barro of the Natanus,” the leader of the survivors introduced himself in kind. “Never been so glad to see a human.”

Turian hands tightened on their weapons as Jaal shifted behind her, but none made any move against him without orders. Thankfully turians were a disciplined people.

“Easy,” she called, “He’s with me.”

Jaal took a cautious step forward. “I’m Jaal Ama Darav, angaran envoy to the Pathfinder,” he stated calmly.

Rix considered the angara skeptically, the shrugged. “Huh. Well, you’re not trying to shoot us, which already makes you better than everything else on the planet. I’ll take it.”

“In spite of how it looks, the angaran people are our allies,” she told Rix and the survivors behind him. “Jaal and his allies helped us find you, and we’re going to get you all back to the Nexus.” A wave of approving subharmonic murmurs rose from the survivors at that. Avitus gestured for them to head deeper into the canyon, and the survivor’s current ramshackle camp.

“SAM, can you ping Kandros through the Hyperion?” she asked as they entered the camp. She watched Liam buzz between survivors like a hyperactive bee, distributing emergency rations and medigel, and field dressing the worst of the survivors’ injuries. “Jaal, see if we can get an evac shuttle from Pelaav. Get it as close as you can; these people aren’t in any shape to travel very far.” Jaal nodded, stepping away to open a comm channel.

“Kandros?” Rix asked.

“Tiran Kandros,” she clarified, “head of security on the Nexus.”

“So the Nexus made it.”

“Mostly in one piece too.”

“Security, you said,” Rix asked. “What happened to Sloane Kelly?”

“She… _left to pursue other employment opportunities,_ ” Masina said. “I’ll tell you the whole story next time we’re at the Nexus. Trust me, you want some booze on hand for this one.”

“Got it,” Rix said. “Been a rough ride for everyone, sounds like.”

“We’re still trying to figure out how bad it really is. The Leusinia and the Paarchero are still missing. Hyperion arrived late due to some navigational drift, and found the Nexus only mostly holding together. It hit the same space anomaly Natanus did.”

Jaal approached them “I’ve informed Kiiran. She’s sending a shuttle to bring everyone to the research station to wait for transport offplanet. We’ve located a clear landing zone nearby.”

“Research station?” Rix asked skeptically.

“Climatologists,” Ryder reassured Rix. “The angara there are trying to figure out why this area’s so unstable.”

“You mean the plants here aren’t normally more aggressive than the locals?” Rix replied tiredly. “I've seen the vines growing through durasteel plating. We’ve had more injuries from the damn plants than any attack. Ambushes we trained for, not this…” He gestured vaguely at the mutated jungle. “As for the locals, we’ve clashed with them a few times, but so far we’ve been able to fend them off. They hit hard, but they never seemed willing to make a sustained attack. More like they were trying to feel us out.”

“You’ve done an admirable job out here. Military officer?” she asked.

“Spectre,” Rix clarified. “Did the council’s dirty work for fifteen years. Andromeda was supposed to be my retirement. Then Natanus crashed into something we don’t even understand, and we woke up here.”

“What happened?” she asked. “Where’s the ark?”

“Wish I knew,” Rix told her. “I had to break out of my own damn stasis pod. We’ve had no contact with Natanus since we woke up here.”

“Unfortunately, neither have we. You’re the first signs of the Natanus we’ve found.”

“Pathfinder status hasn’t transferred to me,” Rix said, as they walked through the bustle of the camp, “so Macen Barro’s still alive out there, just don’t know where. Knowing Macen, he’s out there looking for me.” Masina noted that Rix had been isolated in a hostile alien environment for weeks, but talking about the turian Pathfinder was the first time his tone carried any emotion beyond tired skepticism. “Macen dedicated his life to Andromeda. He’s too stubborn to die now.”

“You’ve done well here” she told him. “These people look up to you.”

Rix shook his head. “I’m a stopgap. Macen is the solution.”

The turian survivors were mostly made up of the Natanus Pathfinder team and support staff, including some noncombatants. Some were nervous, scared; all were ready for reunification with the Initiative.

“I can’t believe this is really happening,” said a turian woman in ragged science uniform. “Thought we’d be stuck here forever, until those things in the woods killed us. Jumping out of the trees like khargas with guns.”

“I don’t know what a kharga is,” Jaal commented dryly, “But I’ll assume it’s complementary.”

“You do that.”

“My people mistook you for some breed of kett,” Masina heard Jaal explain. “They are a species that has been at war with us for generations. The, uh.. plates…” He stumbled, as though unsure how to explain politely. “Your people appear similar from a distance.”

“Yeah, my carapace feels so much better knowing I got shot from a case of mistaken identity,” the woman replied.

“Easy guys,” Liam called from where he was cleaning up a wounded survivor. “Jaal’s here to help.”

“You understand our suspicion,” Rix said to Jaal, nodding at the gathered “Thus far all your people we’ve met tried to kill us.”

“I do.” Jaal replied, his voice filled with an improbable depth of compassion for two small words. She had never met anyone so expressive before, or so thoughtful. Even Rix appeared taken aback by the raw feeling in Jaal’s words.

As the camp prepared to travel to the shuttle landing zone, Masina updated Rix on the status of the Initiative, in all its delightful glory: Garson dead, Nexus behind schedule, supplies low, colonization only just started, and a tenuous alliance with locals that was obviously not universally accepted. The golden worlds they had slept for so long to reach were either barren or already inhabited (arguably both in the case of Voeld, a turian hell if there ever was one.) And there were the kett, of course.

“Had to be an _interesting_ retirement, didn’t it?” Rix sighed, sparing a glance skyward.

***

They ventured forth, towards the landing zone that would bring the turian survivors to the relative safety of Daar Pelaav for Initiative pickup. Just a little bit of jungle to go, and…

“Heading your way now, Pathfinder,” the shuttle pilot said over the comms.

“Ryder,” SAM spoke. “I’m detecting a sharp increase in Roekaar communications in our area. Proceed quickly, and with caution.”

“Everybody eyes up,” she told the assembled band of survivors. “SAM’s got unfriendlies in the area.”

Jaal hefted his rifle. “I’ll scout ahead. Keep moving towards the landing zone.”

Jaal was in his element here, moving like a ghost, blending perfectly with the environment, fast and quiet. Scouting ahead, then looping around to suddenly appear among them—he wasn’t even trying to hide from them: he was just that good.

Jaal called a sudden halt, then disappeared back into the jungle. He was gone for much longer this time. As the forest echoed with the calls of alien wildlife, Masina sensed the turian survivors were getting anxious. She saw around her nervous shifting stances and flustered mandible flares. _They worry Jaal’s led them into an ambush,_ she thought.

She knew better: by now, she would trust Jaal with her life. _Turians take their cues from leadership,_ she reasoned, _show them you believe in him and they’ll follow._ She shifted to stand more prominently, relaxed and steady, to try and project an aura of calm. She wasn’t sure how well it worked, but the number of mandible flares seemed reduced.

Suddenly Jaal was there in their midst.

“I apologize for the delay,” he said politely. “There was a patrol headed across our path; they took a good deal of work to lure away.” He quickly explained that he had cobbled together some interesting tech to draw the Roekaar’s attention, with some spare components that would have been left behind at the survivor camp. “The path to the landing zone is clear; we had best take advantage of the opportunity.”

Masina and Jaal both breathed a profound sigh of relief when they lifted off in the shuttle from Pelaav, with all the turian survivors safely aboard. Jaal was on the comms with Kiiran, trying to figure out what had drawn the Roekaar to their area so quickly.

Masina stood next to Rix, talking about next steps. “Macen’s Pathfinder vessel survived the Nexus’s crash into the scourge,” she told him. “Those ships are keyed to only respond to a Pathfinder, but my SAM can probably jimmy you a way in.”

“I’d appreciate the assist,” Rix told her. “Natanus is out there somewhere. Not gonna stop til we find it.”

“I’ll check in next time we’re at the Nexus,” she said, “see if there’s anything else my team and I can help with.”

“Not heading back to the Nexus with us?” Rix asked.

“Not yet,” she told him. She looked out at the jungle below. “Something’s not right with this planet, and SAM and I might be the only ones that can fix it. We have to try.”

 

 


	8. Mithrava

Masina had finished preparing her last reports. The turian survivors were safely in route to the Nexus as of a few hours ago, but greater challenges remained on Havarl.

She walked down the Tempest’s loading ramp, to find Suvi perched on the ramp’s end. The scientist was carefully scanning the remains of a plant, drawn in on herself as if stepping a toe over the edge would result in the jungle swallowing her whole.

“Gonna have to set foot out there to get to Pelaav,” Masina said, gesturing to the research station some forty meters away. “Kallo can’t land us any closer.”

“Oh hello Ryder,” Suvi replied. “I was taking scans of the plants. This vine germinated, developed to full growth and then strangled itself and decomposed all in less than an hour—It’s all quite remarkable.”

“Any new insights on how the plant life’s behaving this way?” she said, offering Suvi a hand to step off the ramp

“It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before,” the scientist replied. “The gene expression is accelerated to a rate that’s completely unsustainable.”

“Mutations?” Masina asked.

“Oh, quite a few of those too,” Suvi said. She gestured to the twisted remains of plants in the area as they gingerly made their way to the outpost. “These are genetically healthy life forms, but they’re reading their instructions too fast. Like if you were making dinner and cleared the table only a minute after you’d set the food down, after warming it for only thirty seconds or so.”

“The biosphere’s trying to operate on ‘bake for twenty minutes at a hundred degrees, or one minute at two thousand degrees?’”

“Exactly,” Suvi confirmed, “but it’s not working at all.”

Inside the research station, Jaal was conferring with Kiiran and her team on the data they recovered from the surviving node they discovered in the jungle. Their expressions were dire.

“What’s going on?” Masina asked. “If I can help, I will.”

“Though it does not look like it across most of the planet,” Kiiran began, “Havarl is… _unwell_. You’ve seen the signs outside. The changes started here, across all organic life in the area, killing some, turning others into poison. We’re starting to see the same effects elsewhere across the planet. Havarl’s ecosystem is crumbling, slowly but surely.”

“It’s the monoliths!” Research Assistant Torvar interjected. “There are only two of them when there should be three. The Moshae has theorized that the monoliths are responsible for propagating the vault’s instructions across the planet. With only two out of three working, the instructions are imbalanced. So life is imbalanced.”

“Have the angara been affected?” Suvi asked, looking worriedly between Jaal and the researchers.

“Not that we’ve detected,” Kiiran reassured her, “though it’s difficult to collect real data on such a private matter. As the decline becomes more severe, it’s an ever-increasing risk.”

“If there’s a chance—Kiiran, how long before these effects go planetwide?” Masina asked urgently.

“They already are,” Kiiran told them, “Though the effects are most severe here. With the monoliths out of balance, there have always been problems in the wilds, but the effects have grown and spread exponentially. Two, maybe three years, and I fear nowhere on Havarl will be habitable.”

“I should be able to reset the vault and fix the problem,” Masina said. _And SAM is so ready to try turning it off and on again,_ she thought. “Just need to find and wake up the last monolith in… all these ruins.”

“And there is the larger problem,” Torvar explained. “The third monolith should be in the area, but hasn’t ever been located by modern research teams.”

 _SAM?_ she asked.

“ _Our planetary scans are also inconclusive,”_ SAM informed her.

“We’ve never tried asking the sages.” Torvar mentioned. “There could be something in their oral history.”

“But those superstitious hermits don’t care about modern angara,” Kiiran scoffed. “You know that, Torvar.”

“You saw the projections for the planet’s survival,” Torvaar pleaded. He shrugged. “What do we have to lose?”

“Sages?” Masina questioned.

“The sages of Mithrava,” Kiiran explained. She turned to the window, pointing to a soaring structure rising out of the jungle in the distance. “You see that tall remnant pinnacle there? The sages live up there, using remnant walls and bridges to isolate themselves from the outside world, ostensibly to preserve our history. Their families date back to a time just after the scourge disaster. They believe isolation will maintain the purity of the histories by preventing contamination by modern thought.”

“What’s the point of having knowledge if it is not shared?” Jaal said with a huff of derision.

“I won’t argue there,” Kiiran agreed. “They probably don’t even understand or care that Havarl’s dying.”

“Be that as it may, they may know of remnant structures we do not,” Torvaar argued. “It is the only thing we have not tried.”

“Then we’ll try it,” Masina declared.

The researchers exchanged startled glances. Even Torvar looked surprised.

“Be careful,” Kiiran said. “Mithrava’s teeming with remnant defenses.”

“Can’t be any worse than a vault,” Masina shrugged. “And if we can stop the planet’s decline, I’d say that’s worth the risk.”

***

 _Hard to really call the remnant structures here ‘ruins.’_ Masina thought, craning her neck to look up at the soaring structures. _They look perfectly preserved; even most of the lights are still on._

They stood at the feet of the remnant spire called Mithrava. The path to the sages had led them through the jungle into a deep remnant canyon through which shallow, luminous waters flowed.

By convenient happenstance, this route also led them directly through one of the dozen or so archaeological sites Avela had shared with them. An ancient angaran shuttle lay half-immersed in the glowing waters.

 _Alright, Masina_ , she told herself with a smile. _Time to put on the archaeologist hat._ Jaal was eager to explore the site as well. _He’s done fieldwork before too, remember? Trying to take the past apart and see how it all fits together, I’d bet._ They talked over the scans and relics with wistful excitement for what might have been.

“The ship,” she commented, “it looks almost remnant.”

“Perhaps an early derivative?” Jaal pondered, looking at least as fascinated as she felt as he performed his own scans of the ancient vessel. “What histories of our people that survived the scourge suggest a great deal of our first advanced technologies were built from studying the remnant.”

Liam, clearly out of his area of expertise, set to entertaining himself by poking the native plant life and watching it disintegrate. “Liam,” she called as she passed him on her scanner sweep “let it be known if you get a weird rash, you’ve got to treat it yourself.”

“I’m the medic,” he scoffed. “I’d have to treat it myself anyway.” She waved off his protestations and continued her scans.

“The tech has held up remarkably well, especially given these surroundings,” she said to Jaal, wading another few steps through the glowing waters. “The majority of damage to the craft seems to be scourge burns--could this date back to the scourge disaster?”

“It must,” Jaal replied, thoughtful, perhaps even a bit reverent. “Pieces of the old angaran empire, lost to time.”

“Jaal,” she asked, looking up from her scans. “With this much similarity... How do we know the remnant weren’t the ancient angara, if you lost so much in the scourge disaster?”

Jaal looked surprised, and then a little self-conscious about his surprise. He paused to consider her question. She watched his eyes move around as he thought, his pupils broad almond shapes in the murk, with dim blue flashes of reflected light here and there in their depths. It was fascinating to watch him think. “I suppose…we just know. When I examine the remnant, I can feel it down to the blood and bone: this is not ours, this was never ours.”

She completed the full structural scan of the crash site and surrounding area. _Even if there are relics here buried too deeply to reach, this should allow Avela to explore the site holographically. And be considerably less soggy than us while doing it._ At least one item seemed to be barely buried at all, and structurally free of the rest of the crash. It looked like… an angaran helmet. She easily lifted it from the mud and sludge to examine it. “Scourge damage here too. Must have been a rough way to go. We’ll find someone to bring it back to the repository for Avela to examine.”

“Perhaps we could send the relics with old man Luj,” Jaal suggested. “He wants off this planet anyway, and it might help him be authorized for transportation sooner.”

“But then who would be left to develop new and creative ways to insult the local trees?” she laughed, stowing the relic.

Mithrava loomed above them. Even to begin the climb up the spire would be a challenge to almost anyone, as the first step on the path was a retracted bridge over the river chasm--with the controls on the wrong side. But between biotic mastery of gravity and SAM’s processing abilities, Masina was able to open the way, and they began the long, winding climb towards answers.

“It’s beautiful up here, she said, pausing on one of the higher ledges. Even in the foggy twilight with a drizzling rain that had moved in, the place was majestic: gleaming black spires in a hundred different shapes rising from the jungle, like a vast silent cityscape extending to the mountains on the horizon, and in each still street and courtyard the wild, vibrant life of the jungle. A pod of manta flew across the shining face of Uusarl, their shadows racing across the landscape.

“I’ve never been up here before,” Jaal said, taking in the view beside her. “I’ve heard of the sages of Mithrava, but…never gave it much thought.”

“Why not?” she asked.

“Isn’t a story worthless if it isn’t shared?” he said, with an old and obvious frustration. “If the accounts of our past are kept hidden, they may as well not exist at all.”

“Climbing to a great height to speak to some wise old hermits,” Liam huffed, pulling himself up the ledge to join them. “It’s like we’re in a vid or something. If they had us a magical artifact, I’m going to eat my helmet.”

She snorted. “No, they’ll send us on a quest to _find_ the relic. Bet you ten credits.”

“You’re on.”

***

The elder sages of Mithrava were conferring about what to do with them. Overheard conversations from those who dwelled here taught her that they were very lucky the sages had even considered hearing their request and hadn’t just told them to climb right back down the spire. Their deliberations were frustrating, but it had given Masina and her companions an opportunity to explore the ancient courtyard.

 _They’ve got some old and damaged tech here_ , she noted.

One of the acolytes was muttering over an irrigation system., “Merciful skies, if the elmohk won’t grow…”

Jaal, somewhat putting aside his frustration at the sage’s reclusive nature, offered to take a look at their irrigation system. He did work on farm infrastructure on his first vesaal, she remembered.

“What is the point of having all this history if you’re not going to share it?” he repeated again to the acolyte as he worked on the pumping systems. “Mithrava is locked away, behind remnant gates and consoles…you study for ages, dozens and dozens of years, to be able to work remnant tech. Then you use that knowledge to keep yourselves locked away.”

The acolytes and lower sages watching them seem as interested in Jaal as the two aliens. _They really don’t get many outsiders here,_ she reasoned.

“Esmus shouldn’t even be talking with an outsider, much less aliens,” she heard one of the sages mutter.

“Esmus has led us for generations,” another replied. “I trust him

“Bah,” the first sage dismissed him. “It is the _tavum_. A glass a day for forty cycles has addled his wits.”

“Why do I even bother talking with you?” And the sages parted ways, off to different duties.

 _Forty cycles_ , she mused, _and a Havarlian cycle is just shy of three Earth years… how old_ _ **is**_ _that man?_

She considered the angaran statues scattered around the courtyard. The garb was…sparse, only covering the groin and taon. _I wonder what that says about angaran conventions on modesty? They must have some social conventions on the topic, armor swap debacle or not._

“This is our history, focus!” hissed another sage, trying to regain the attention of a young acolyte who was far more interested in watching a live alien than hearing about dead angara.

Masina took the opportunity to eavesdrop on their history lesson—not that she could really help hearing anyway.

“There are three returned heroes who have been identified,” the sage said, “Ishaaf, Beshal, and Zorai.”

“Right,” replied the acolyte. “And the remnant builders taught Beshal?”

“Don’t be foolish,” the sage chided her student. “No one’s ever seen a builder, nor do we speak their language. Beshal learned from the things they left behind.”

 _Returned heroes, huh? Wonder where they returned from._ Masina activated her scanner. She was trying to figure out what sort of alloy the statues are made of, and how far back they dated. _SAM, I think my scanner’s malfunctioning. It’s saying these statues are only a couple centuries younger than the remtech they’re built on. That can’t be right, this place is supposed to be post-scourge. Something’s not properly calibrated_. She gave the scanner a few good smacks, but percussive maintenance didn’t appear to be fruitful.

“We learned to tie Atram’s bind by examining the rope at each stage of the knot’s construction,” the sage went on. That didn’t mean anything to Masina, but did seem to grant the acolyte some insight.

Masina noticed Jaal had risen from his work—apparently, he’d fixed the whatever-it-was for the acolyte. The woman looks impressed. _He gathers admirers everywhere he goes, doesn’t he?_

“So…Beshal learned how to construct an engine from examples?” the acolyte asked.

“Yes,” the sage explained. “Beshal was responsible for adapting remnant technology, creating engines, drive cores, giving us the stars.”

 _Maybe Jaal could take a look at my scanner,_ she thought. _It’s technically advanced alien tech to him, but that’s never stopped him before_. But that line of thought was cut short by Esmus’s return.

Esmus, the First Sage of the… whatever it was, the closest words her translator came up with were ‘monastery’ or ‘cloister,’ approached them. A man with skin the color of morning fog, his garb was pale as well, washed-out, in stark contrast to the vibrant colors of angaran clothing she’d seen thus far. He spoke.

“We can’t help you. You need to leave this place. We have already entertained you for longer than is allowed.”

Jaal stepped forward, frustrated and pleading. “With Ryder’s help, Havarl could be healed. Our birthplace, restored. Isn’t that worth something?”

“It’s lost,” Esmus said with crushing finality. “The memories of its location haven’t been reclaimed. On Mithrava, we have accepted Havarl’s eventual ruin.”

It was as if she and Jaal stood before Evfra again, as they did that first day on Aya. How they moved to stand together even then, and did again now. Jaal had argued beside her, given her a chance to save her people. No way she was going to give up on the chance to do the same for him.

“You’re just giving up on your planet?” she pressed. “Don’t you want to save it?”

“A chasm separates want from can,” Esmus explained. “What you ask, no one can give. The memory of the monolith resides within a thread that has slipped from our grasp.”

“What does that mean?” she asked. “Sounds like more than just ‘we forgot.”

“We believe in reincarnation,” Jaal told her in a brief aside. “an unbroken thread.”

Esmus sighed, perhaps seeing that this strange pair would not be deterred. “There was one, long ago, who had knowledge of the vault and its monoliths: Zorai, a champion of the angara from before the scourge. Zorai’s soul has returned,” Esmus went on, “and could be made to remember what it knew, but we have no contact with it.”

“Could be made to know? How?” Jaal asked, now looking as baffled as she felt.

“Souls return within families,” Esmus explained. “An object—heirloom—tied closely to that bloodline could cause memories to… resurface.”

“Could?” she echoed. “So it’s not a sure thing.”

“It has been known to happen on rare occasions in the past, with other souls. In all cases,” Esmus explained, “the heirloom was ancient, old angaran tech from before the scourge. The only known heirloom of Zorai’s family rests in an area with active remnant. No one has survived the journey. If you wish to attempt it… Zorai’s soul was reborn in a man named Taavos, who has recently returned to Havarl.”

“Esmus,” Jaal asked, “How… How can you possibly track such things, to know when a soul has returned?” He looked as startled by all this as she was, or nearly so, yet he took it all in with the same calm, piercing perceptiveness he had once taken in her ship and crew.

“That knowledge is for sages alone,” Esmus said, with a gentleness this time. “To know who one was before can be a great burden.”

 _This whole concept seems insane_ , she thought, _but then, don’t I have SAM preparing to help me retrieve my own dad’s memories? If the ancient angara developed their tech from the vault-builders, who knows what they might have been able to do._

“You said this Taavos returned to Havarl?” Jaal asked. “If we are able to retrieve this relic, where could he be found?”

“Perhaps the stars have smiled upon you; he is not far. Taavos commands a unit of Roekaar which was recently called into this area, for what reason I do not know. The kett have long abandoned this wild place. We know not what they hunt here.”

“Oh, we do.” Masina answered.

“A Roekaar...” Jaal hummed a short sigh. “Well, that will be difficult.”

_Of course he had to be Roekaar. Not like this ancient angaran hero could have come back as a karkyn farmer or a botanist or something, oh no. Had to be a ranking member of a military splinter group. Trying to bring back the memories of a dead person in their descendant was just going to be too easy for us otherwise._

“I will send you the relevant coordinates,” Esmus concluded. “We consider Havarl a lost cause, but perhaps now, there is hope.”

***

“So the sages are sending us after Zorai’s relic, which may awaken the memories they need in Taavos.” Liam commented as they picked their way back down Mithrava. “Just when I thought my life couldn’t get any more unreal.”

“Told you they wouldn’t just give us a magic artifact, Liam. We gotta work for these things. By the way, pretty sure this means you owe me credits.”

“You got me,” Liam said with an unsteady grin, as if he still wasn’t sure he wasn’t dreaming.

Masina caught up to Jaal on their descent. “Assuming we get the relic,” she asked, “do you think you can help us speak with the Roekaar—"

“And not get shot!” Liam shouted from above.

“Maybe… I’m not sure. They won’t like that I’m helping you.”

As they paused on one of the larger ledges, she asked Jaal what he thought of all of it: the sages, reincarnation, lost memories being recovered in new lives.

“Belief in reincarnation is a central tenant in our most prominent religions…and nearly all of our less prominent ones, I believe. It is…part of who we are.”

“And, do you believe?”

“No… Yes. Eh… _sometimes._ My true mother, Sahuna, is a firm believer. I…have always taken comfort in the rituals, but in truth…I have never given it much thought.” He looked a little embarrassed at the admission. “I have heard legends of remembrance before, and we have plenty of _gosavaasan_ , ‘stubborn souls,’ who we believe retain aspects of their previous lives. They are highly regarded as leaders and fonts of wisdom--like Evfra,” he added. “But I had never thought to pursue such things”

_Not entirely sure what he means, but ‘stubborn soul’ seems like a good enough description of Evfra. I’ll take it._

“Soul grows with each lifetime,” Jaal went on. “Born from before to become better than before.”

Liam had successfully picked his way down to join them, and was listening intently. “But how can you grow if you can’t remember what you did before?” he asked. “If you don’t know what mistakes you made so you don’t make them again?”

“We are told the growth of the soul is not like the growth of the mind, and memories are not required to move forward. And, many of our texts warn against focusing too deeply on what was, to the detriment of what is. It is said a person may become fixated on what was, and their soul consequently stagnates. Yet, so much of our past has been lost… Mh, I am not sure.”

***

They delved deep into remnant ruins in search of the relic. This place was different from a vault, but still so extensive. Sleeping bots, endless halls and corridors and vast rooms. None of it clearly vault tech, nor living space.

“What was this place?” she wondered aloud.

“The leading theory,” Jaal begain, coming up beside her, “is that they are all part of a giant mechanical warrior that will one day rise from the earth and go destroy the kett for us.”

“What, really?”

“No. Liam’s made me watch too many vids.”

She sniggered. It was good to not be the only one trying to lighten the mood anymore.

“You dick.” Liam laughed.

They passed through a silent hall lined with still remnant assemblers. Liam was getting twitchy.

“Relax,” she reassured him. “They’ve slept for this long. I don’t think they’re gonna do anything.”

“Famous last words, Ryder,” Liam replied.

She scoffed, and went to boop the silent bot lightly on the nose. A strange warbling noise echoed through the vault.

“Shit!”

“Weapons ready!” Jaal called.

But the bots remained still, leaving them holding their weapons on statues.

“…Or not,” Masina said, letting her biotics fade.

“Why not bring Peebee here?” Liam asked as they started forward again. “This whole planet is covered in remtech. You kick over a rock and you find some new kind of tech. It’d be like Christmas.”

“Exactly,” she replied, as they entered a large open chamber. “She’d see two dozen things she just had to go explore, and next we’d hear of her she’d be on the other side of the planet. She’s best at Pelaav, where she’s at least a little contained. Plus, you gotta see the quest through, right?”

Another, louder warble echoed through the chamber. “Sounds like we pissed something off?!”

“Remnant!” Jaal shouted, already sprinting around to flank.

And what a remnant it was. She ducked behind one of the black metal columns, spying a glance here and there. A massive remnant construct scuttled through the main space of the chamber, seeking targets _. Okay, so, today’s main event is a two-story crab with guns for arms. Great. I totally trained for just this scenario. Piece of cake, right?_

“Any ideas on how to fight this thing?” she shouted to the others as she moved from cover to cover.

“Yeah,” Liam yelled, “don’t get shot!”

_SAM?_

“ _Structural weaknesses identified_ ,” SAM replied, highlighting the gun-arms' shoulder joints on her HUD.

Liam tossed a grenade, which did nothing to phase the heavily armored construct, but did serve to briefly distract it as she moved to a better position.

“Strike at its arms!” Jaal shouted, his ocular having identified the construct’s weak points as well.

Jaal made good on his own suggestions. A well-placed shot or two from the Lanat was all she needed.

 _Heavy is: hard on both sides of you, you funky killer crab._ And she pulled, until one of the arms snapped clean off to clatter against the columns.

The other gun was still quite able to fire, however, and the massive construct had rightly identified the greatest threat in the room. She snapped up an aegis, deflecting the hail of projectiles. She made some pretense of directing the bolts back to the arm cannon that fired them, but mostly her energy was directed in following Liam’s sage advice and not getting shot.

The construct clanked closer, rattling the ground with its approach.

_Shit, it’s almost on top of me now. Too focused on keeping up aegis, big picture, Ryder, big picture._

It ceased firing and began emitting a slow, rising whine. Arcs of red energy flashed and sparked as it charged up something she was just _sure_ she didn’t want to stick around for. _Yeah, let’s not be here,_ she thought, and she darted away in a streak of light.

A massive pulse of fuchsia electricity blasted impotently from the construct, enough to have fried her systems entirely. The construct, properly enraged, scuttled ponderously around to follow her, its slow turn generously exposing its remaining shoulder joint to Jaal and his incredible Lanat. Three quick shots in succession and the joint was a sparking wreck.

 _Heavy is before me_.

She pulled the massive cannon arm from the construct and held it suspended before her, a makeshift shield for whatever the construct’s next trick might be.

The construct rotated to face her squarely, and a shining vent opened in the center of its broad armored torso. A thrumming whine shook the floor below her as the construct built up a massive charge within its twin power cores.

_How about you don’t._

And she threw the severed cannon arm straight through the exposed core.

The construct stumbled back on its squat arthropod legs. A pulsing shimmer of energy distortion surrounded the impaled construct, scintillating with the red flares of energy bursts as it accelerated towards overload.

“Get to cover!”

A pink-white explosion flared through the chamber.

Ryder leaned against the column she had ducked behind, laughing with triumph and relief, as the remtech shards rained down, filling the chamber with little clinks and chimes.

***

They found the relic deep within the remnant abyss. It lay with the remains of some foolish kid who thought he could use it to prove himself. She was starting to see a pattern of angaran behavior here, and as a big sister it was utterly infuriating.

Jaal delicately freed the relic from the angaran skeleton that held it and lifted it for them to examine together. “Like some sort of glove,” Jaal mused, “with electrical inputs on the inside. Pre-scourge.” He gently passed it to her waiting carrying case--a spare provided by Avela for their earlier artifact hunting. “I’ve seen such things at the Repository, but we still don’t completely understand how they would have worked.”

“So now all we need to do is convince a Roekaar commander to take this relic from us and trigger mystical memories from a past life, so we can find the last monolith and save the planet,” she said as she secured the case to her belt. “Easy, right?”

“Piece of muffin,” Jaal said confidently, with a hint of smirk.

***

They approached the site of the Roekaar camp.

“So,” Liam whispered, “Should we ask them ‘take me to your leader?’ --Ow!” he exclaimed as she elbowed him.

“Look like the cute aliens, not scary ones,” she replied.

“Last time you told me that, we ended up getting shot at.”

“That’s because they were kett. We were _super nice_ about everything and they had to be rude about it. We’ll be fine, these are angara. Don’t get twitchy.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of your reception, Ryder,” Jaal told her. “They…don’t know you like I do.”

The access to the Roekaar camp was by way of a very narrow bridge across a remnant chasm. Three Roekaar guarded it. They were wearing rofjinn in the reds of the lichen on the cliffs, magenta of the nearby foliage and violets of the fungus on the forest floor, decorated with different honorifics and fastened differently than Jaal’s, each over flame-orange armors.

“Have they seen us?” she whispered.

“I’m sure of it.” Jaal replied.

“Probably for the best. Really don’t want to take them by surprise.” Liam said in a tense undertone.

“I hope you have a plan for if they start shooting,” Jaal stated.

“I always have a plan,” she reassured him.

“Really?”

“Well, like half of one, at least. Usually.”

“There’s an angara with them!” she heard one of the Roekaar soldiers exclaim as the three of them slowly approached. “Should we shoot?”

“I don’t know,” her compatriot replied.

“They’re coming closer. We need to do something.”

“You there!” One of the Roekaar shouted. “Who are you? And what are those _things_ you have following you?”

“I am Jaal Ama Darav, a lieutenant in the Resistance and envoy to the human pathfinder, Masina Ryder.” He gestured to her, and then to Liam. “And Liam Kosta, field medic for the Pathfinder team. We were…unsure of our reception here.”

“You should be,” the woman spat. “Why have you brought aliens here? The Imasaf invaders mean nothing but trouble for the angara.”

Masina took a cautious step forward. “We need to talk to a man named Taavos. Is he here?”

“Our commander?” the Roekaar in the red rofjinn echoed, surprised. “Why would you…?”

“How do they know he’s here?” another hissed.

“I don’t like it,” the first woman said. “You should leave.”

“We should at least ask Taavos before we send them away, Olevai.” Red-rofjinn argued. “See what he wants to do with them.”

“I suppose…”

“Let’s take them into the camp then, let the commander sort them out.”

“And give them what they want?” the woman, Olevai, exclaimed with shock.

“What?” Red-rofjinn shrugged. “It’s just one of Evfra’s adhi, and the aliens are so little I bet I could take both of them alone. How much damage could they possibly do?”

Olevai made a face at him before turning back to the three of them. “Very well. We will have Taavos decide your fate. Keep your weapon where it is, Jaal of the Resistance. And be sure your pets behave. “

“My _friends_ belong to no one but themselves,” Jaal responded firmly. “Ryder rescued the Moshae, and now we are here because she wishes to help us further. Have some respect.”

“You are deluding yourself, gosavar,” Olevai told him with a tone of exasperated pity as she and her compatriots led them away. “Rescuing the Moshae was just propaganda to get in close with our leaders on Aya. Aliens do not have the capacity for friendship. They have broken souls.”

A narrow bridge took them over the remnant crevasse, a deadly drop for anyone who wasn’t a biotic. They were escorted through a twisting cavern and into a broad, open meadow, with old fortifications built into the cliffs.

The trees that lined the clearing had twisted, mutating silhouettes, breaking themselves apart with their own frantic growth, exploding in slow motion. The field they crossed shimmered, like the shine of leaves fluttering in the wind. But there was no wind, she realized as they were led out into the center of the clearing, just waves of wild growth and mutated degradation.

 _We have to save this planet_.

As they stood in the wide-open clearing, Masina became keenly aware of sniper beads on them. _At least six. No, seven_.

“No closer!” one of the Roekaar shouted. “They might have explosives. Keep them in the open.”

_I guess shouting ‘hey, can you come touch this shiny artifact for us?’ would probably not be a winning strategy._

A hubbub of voices rose around them.

“They shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t have brought them!”

“That Resistance lieutenant, colluding with them…No better than a stinking Kadaran.”

“Shut up. I’ve never seen an alien like this before. They're not kett. Maybe they’re okay.”

“That’s what they want you to think!”

“Yeah, because either they really are okay, or they’re trying to trick us. How are we going to know if we never talk to them?”

The Roekaar turned as one as Taavos appeared onthe platforms above. She wasn’t sure what she expected a returned angaran hero to look like, but… she wasn’t sure it was this. No glowing aura, the earth didn’t tremble at his feet. He looked like just another young angaran fighter. Perhaps with a little more bearing than the others, with a gaze that seemed a little more thoughtful, more piercing, but certainly no greater in either aspect than Jaal beside her. Intricate black religious markings were painted across his face and crown—a man of faith? Perhaps that would make things a little easier, if only that it meant he wouldn’t reject the most basic premise of their crazy plan outright.

Arguments and debates continued from the Roekaar soldiers above, but Taavos was their leader, and they ultimately deferred to him. Her people were so new to them all. They respected Akksul and hated the kett, but their natural curiosity was still holding out against hatred.

“Tell me why you’ve come here!” Taavos shouted down to them.

 _To save the world—no, that sounds terribly arrogant_. “To help heal the planet,” Masina said. Jaal stood beside her.

“Havarl,” he began, “our home, is in decline. The planet is dying. You all know this--we can see it all around us. Ryder, this alien, _my friend_ , believes she can help us repair the damage. “

She took up the thread. “We have listened to the sages of Mithrava,” she said, “And they have sent us here to you, because they believe you can help us.”

“The _sages_ sent you?” The Roekaar commander spat. “Those secretive _vehpaara_ with their skutting—They don’t even care that their people are being enslaved and killed by kett!”

“Their isolationism angers me as well,” Jaal agreed, “But, with Ryder’s help, we opened the way. We climbed Mithrava and demanded that they at least listen to our struggles. Now they have finally given us _something_ to work with. And that sent us here.”

Taavos’s eyes narrowed, considering them carefully. But he hadn’t dismissed them yet.

Masina spoke. “To have any hope of healing the planet we need to reset the vault. There is a third monolith here, somewhere in the area, but no one has ever found it. The sages say you have the knowledge, from a past life. I don’t know about any of this, it’s all alien to me, but if what they say is true…”

“There is a relic the sages guided us to recover.” Jaal explained. “They believe it will allow you to…remember. We don’t really know if it will do anything, but the sages think so, and for Havarl, we are willing to try.”

“I just want to help,” Masina said.

The voices of Roekaar rose around them with a thousand opinions, but Taavos chose action. He vaulted over the ledge and dropped down to approach them, clearly without weapons drawn.

Masina laid the relic down before him.

“It’s… not alien,” Taavos said, surprised. “In fact…it looks remarkably familiar…”

Taavos lifted the relic, murmuring about how it was supposed to work as though it were another part of himself. He pulled off his armored glove to slip on the device. He flexed his hands a few times, his expression disappointed, as though even he had hoped for a miracle, and then… then his eyes were a thousand miles away.

He stared, unresponsive. The young soldiers under his command grew restless, calling out to him. One broke ranks and ran out to him.

“Taavos, speak to us. Are you alright?”

The escort behind them drew weapons. “They have done something to him, alien monsters!”

Taavos stirred, hand gripping his brow. “What… What have you done to me?”

Masina felt the urge to go to him, to help in some way, but the Roekaar were bristling. A few now stood alongside their commander.

“Give the word, Taavos,” Olevai hissed, “And we will wipe them off the planet.”

“…No.” Taavos sighed, giving a tired wave to signal his troops to lower their weapons, which they slowly, reluctantly, followed.

“I know things…” he murmured. “How do I… I remember, I should not remember… I was in pain, I was so desperate to…”

“Where does it hurt?” one of the soldiers asks him

“It…is a memory, Ishkaan,” Taavos reassured him. “It…It is _my_ memory.” He turned to Ryder and her companions, that sharp intensity returned to his eyes. “The monolith—alien, you say you could restore this planet if you had access to the underground monolith. Is this true?”

“I can reset the vault,” she answered, “that much I’m sure of. I’m working with technology I don’t understand, but as far as we can tell, a reset should stabilize the planet. “

“It is deep beneath the surface, but not far. I… I will guide you there. I know the way, just… let me compose myself first.”

The man beside him, the one he called Ishkaan, clutched Taavos’s arm and spoke: “Taavos, I respect your choice to go with the aliens, but I do not trust them. I am coming with you.”

“ _We_ are coming with you,” Olevai added, looking at Ryder skeptically.

“No way I’m missing this,” her companion agreed excitedly.

She spared him a withering glance. “We are the ones who allowed these creatures to meet with you. Whatever happens, Taavos, we are responsible for it. We will see this through.”

***

Now it was Taavos who led them through the jungle, occasionally whispering to himself about what is and what was before.

 _Well, this is a tense party_. Three of Taavos’s soldiers had insisted on accompanying him. They were introduced as Ishkaan, the man who hovered close to Taavos and seemed most concerned with his wellbeing, Olevai, a young woman with rows of rings along the front lobes of her mantle who thus far had always seemed just a few moments shy of opening fire on them, and Shendaar with the crimson rofjinn, who seemed the friendliest—or least murderous--of the bunch.

“So,” Shendaar addressed her. “You’re an alien from outside the Heleus cluster. Have your people encountered the kett before?”

“Shendaar, don’t talk to it,” Olevai chided. “Akksul says they can only lie.”

“Well then, I’ll know the truth by believing the opposite of what they say.”

Masina laughed, which was probably not the most dignified thing to do given Olevai was staring daggers at her. When she composed herself, she explained to Shendaar: “We’re not just from outside Heleus—we’re from a neighboring galaxy to yours, where there aren’t any kett. We didn’t know they were here.”

“I suppose that makes sense” Shendaar mused. “I’ve heard they kill your people too.”

“More dead aliens that way,” Olevai added. “Only good kind, Akksul says.”

“I’m gathering that Akksul says a lot of things,” Masina replied. “Sounds like I should have a talk with this guy. “

Olevai laughed. “It would be a grave mistake, alien. He would destroy you.”

“Hey, I make grave mistakes all the time. Somehow, things keep working out.”

“Shendaar,” Liam said. “You seem like a reasonable person. Why join the Roekaar and not the Resistance?”

“When my brothers and sisters were taken, Evfra declared them a lost cause. Under Akksul, I can still fight to free them, or die trying.”

_So Akksul promises his fighters what they want, even if it’s not what they need._

They traveled to the end of a vast remnant canyon, just beyond where the water plunged down into…somewhere.

Taavos still seems dreamlike, hazy, yet driven. His friends were concerned for him, and Ryder and her companions were too. He led them at a steady pace to where the glowing waters abruptly ended against a sheer metal cliff.

“It’s here,” he said, staring up at the blank remnant wall. “I just have to…”

“Taavos?” Ishkaan asked, concerned.

Taavos took a deep breath. “It helps if I still my mind. I’ve been here before. It’s…familiar.” He examined some unassuming piece of remnant tech. Taavos counted under his breath, “One, two, three… palm here.” The device lit up, responding to his touch, and the wall slid away.

“It worked!” Taavos said, hazy surprise in his voice.

“You worked remnant?!” Ishkaan exclaimed, startled. His companions let out similar exclamations of surprise as they entered the cavern.

“It was underneath us the whole time,” Ryder breathed in wonder.

“ _Significant concentrations of remnant construction on the surface may have prevented scans from detecting this area,”_ SAM explained.

 _Suppose it is just a really big needle in a haystack…made of other, equally large needles,_ she thought back in reply.

The cavern possessed many forking passageways, but Taavos strode forward confidently.

“How did you know how to do that?” Shendaar asked him, still wide-eyed with amazement and glee.

“Zorai watched the watchers,” Taavos said, as if he were reciting a line from memory. “That’s…all I’m getting. I’m not sure what it means. The others slept, but Zorai… but _I_ stayed awake. Unmoving, but seeing. Learning.”

“Like you were watching someone from a stasis field?” Masina ventured.

“Maybe. I don’t think that’s…quite right, but…I can’t remember.”

Remnant lay in their path, deactivated and dead. Zorai had done this, Taavos told them.

 _And now we’re back to finish what Zorai started._ The cave transitioned from natural mushroom-lit rock to glowing remnant metal. They had to be getting close.

Suddenly Taavos darted down a side passage. “There’s something here!” he shouted.

The caught up with him kneeling before a bright patch of mushrooms happily decorating a pile of…

 _Bones. Those are angaran bones_.

“Taavos? What is this?” Ishkaan came to kneel next to him.

Taavos took his hand. “This…was me. I died here.” He swallowed heavily, and continued. “The cost of activating the monoliths, controlling the remnant, it was too much. It took all my mind and heart, and I did not have enough to go on.”

“Are you going to be alright?” Ishkaan asked as he helped Taavos to his feet, holding his arms to steady him.

“I don’t know, _tavetaan._ I…think it will be a while before I do know,” Taavos paused, collecting himself. “But, I do know I have a chance to complete this task, which I set down with my life here.”

They reached the monolith in the cavern. No bots were here, no creatures. Just the place they had sought to find Havarl’s salvation.

They approached the console. Taavos held his hand out, and then retracted it. “I…I’m not sure.”

Masina stood beside him, extended her hand to mirror his own. “Together?”

“Together.”

The monolith flared to life. The rock beneath her feet thrummed with energy from deep below.

“It’s like the soul of the planet is singing,” Olevai said in wonder.

“ _Pathfinder,”_ SAM said. _“It appears the activation of the monolith has initiated a system reboot for the vault itself. Further interface will not be required.”_

_And the planet?_

“ _Active mutagenic waves have ceased. Without long term data, I cannot confirm the planet is stable, but all short-term indicators are highly positive.”_

“We’ve done it.”

***

Together they watched dawn break from Mithrava. Double shadows trailed across the jungle from each remnant spire as the rising sun added its pale light to the orange glow of Uusarl hanging in the western sky. It was such a beautiful place.

Esmus had told Jaal that he had meditated on the young man’s words about the worth of knowledge. And, having seen aliens striving to save for the angara a world the sages had lost hope for, well…He had decided it was time for Mithrava to join the rest of the world again.

Taavos was also taking in the dawn. A few more of those under his command had joined him, here at the top of the spire. Yet Taavos sat apart from them.

Her heart went out to Taavos. Though she certainly didn’t regret that they were able to save the planet, it didn’t change the fact that because of her actions, his life would never be the same. She went to him.

“Pathfinder,” he greeted her, gazing out at the land unfolding below them. “It is a beautiful morning, isn’t it?”

The double glow of sun and planet lit his face, illuminating the intricate black designs that had marked his faith in reincarnation. _But how does one change, when one’s faith meets undeniable proof?_

“I’ve decided to stay here,” he told her, “and several of those under my command have decided to follow me. This is a good place for determining what comes next for us. We all need to find balance, I think.”

“Taavos,” she said, “I’m…I wanted to apologize. I didn’t know how the relic would affect you. I asked you to do something I didn’t understand, and now you have to live with the consequences.”

“It is not where I thought I’d be this morning, true, but…perhaps life is just like that. I’ve learned a lot in a short time.” He turned to look at her, for the first time that morning. “The Roekaar want simple solutions, but nothing is ever simple or certain, is it?”

“Yeah, I can agree with that one, believe me.”

He turned back to the sunrise. “And you will face consequences for this,” he stated, matter-of-fact.

She glanced over at the angara, concerned. “Uh… what do you mean?”

“Akksul is furious. I told him of what happened here, and my decision to leave the Roekaar. He blames you. After all,” he told her, “you _are_ more-or-less responsible for one of Akksul’s most promising lieutenants giving up the cause to become a monk.” He gave her a small self-aware smile that might have been just a bit biting. “No wonder he accuses you of making the angara weak.”

Taavos sobered. “He has drastically increased his rhetoric against your people. Do not expect to be met with such tolerance by his followers again.”

 


	9. Faith and Memory

Masina tinkered with a piece of scrap at her desk. She wasn’t really doing anything with it, just worrying it so her worry could be on the outside. She wanted to know what knowledge Alek had hidden away in the encrypted memories. Her father had collected secrets like a bored asari maiden collected Galaxy of Fantasy achievements. There could be things locked away that were vital to the Initiative. Things she and SAM needed to know.

But she was scared of what it might be like. _Will it be like Taavos? Will it change me?_

 _Probably not_ , she reminded herself with the more rational part of her brain. _Taavos downloaded a lifetime in seconds, without warning, from a life he didn’t even know existed until we showed up._

“ _The decrypted data contains only about fifteen minutes of autobiographical memory, with the remaining seventy-eight point three percent recovered containing semantic knowledge.”_ SAM informed her.

She leaned back in her desk chair, and took a deep breath. “Alright SAM. Let’s go.”

_Again, a strong smell--and taste--of black coffee, and the scent of hot solder._

_He had been tinkering with an external display for SAM’s status matrix on remote routers. He cleared the space perfunctorily for Ambassador Goyle. He didn’t think much of these career politicians. They had ambition, sure, but they waste it on moving tiny steps forward within the old, tired system. Unfortunately, it was the politicians who held the purse-strings._

_Goyle was the most forward-thinking of the lot of them, and so he’d sent to her a daring research proposal with an outline of his vision. If she could understand it, there would be great things in Earth’s future. If she couldn’t comprehend what he did, his career was as good as over._

“ _Alek,” Goyle said, having a seat at the desk across from him, “your recommendations will never fly. Artificial intelligence?”_

“ _It’s our best option.”_

“ _If the Council gets wind of this, it’ll set humanity’s standing back decades. You’re overreaching,” the ambassador chided._

“ _Ambassador Goyle, I’m the military attache to the Citadel. My mandate is clear: find an edge for Earth.”_

“ _And AI is your answer?” Goyle asked, incredulous._

“ _We need to catch up,” he explained. “The asari, the salarians—they’re centuries ahead of us.”_

“ _But it’s illegal,” Goyle’s aide said._

“ _ **Their**_ _rules, not ours. Why deny Earth an advantage?”_

“ _Define this advantage.”_

“ _It will set us free,” he explained. “We’re prisoners of our own five senses. There’s a reality greater than ours that we can’t perceive—but AI can.”_

_Goyle considered him with thinly veiled skepticism. “How?” she asked._

_She’s lost me, she thinks I’m crazy. She can’t get her head around what we all need to see._

“ _By augmenting our own abilities, and adding a few new ones.”_

“ _Well, none of that stopped those geth from revolting,” interjected Goyle’s aide, who Alek was sure didn’t have even a basic understanding of AI programming. Damnit, he would not let this project be killed by ignorant paper-pushers!_

“ _Because they were separate from their creators!” he exclaimed “But AIs and humans interfaced directly, experiencing the world together, benefits both. There’s no creator to revolt against!”_

_The ambassador and her aide exchanged significant glances. “I’m sorry, Alek,” Goyle said. “We can’t take the risk. I appreciate your work, but your request will be denied.”_

_Foolish, short-sighted… He sighed heavily as he watched them leave._

_From asset to liability, he thought. Goyle clearly wants to eliminate risk, not take it. No matter the façade of politeness she wore, he made no mistake: it was only a matter of time before he was removed from Earth’s delegation, and Goyle would happily throw him under the bus to do it._

_He sat, considering how his research and his career could be put to death in one brief meeting. Goyle couldn’t look outside her own hobbled vision of humanity’s future and see that their potential, SAM’s potential, was more than worth breaking a few laws for._

_He took another sip of strong black coffee. Still tasted a bit like the smell of solder from adjusting SAM’s circuitry. Good enough…_

_The flicker on the terminal—a remote access login, he observed, hidden as a graphics blip. Sloppy, or intended to be obvious._

_A vidcall abruptly appeared_

“ _Hello Alek.” The figure was a human woman whose bland features said animation mask, her cool voice a fairly convincing synthesis._

“ _I’m too old for cloak-and-dagger,” he replied to the mystery caller. “You’ve got my attention. Who are you?”_

“ _A benefactor, if you like.” The caller’s visage abruptly switched: now a turian overlay, now krogan. At least they’re being obvious about hiding._

_Who’s thought was that? Alek’s, or…someone else. Mine? No, who else would there be? The memory continued on, heedless of the thought. The sensation was disconcerting._

_Whoever this caller is, they have an incredible intel network, to have contacted me at this moment of vulnerability._

“ _You have something to offer me?” he asked._

“ _A future,” the synthesized voice said matter-of-factly._

“ _That’s vague.” He took another sip of coffee._

“ _A future for your wife.”_

_So, they know Ellen’s terminal, he thought. My own kids don’t even know that._

“ _You’re out of money,” the mystery figure noted, now appearing as an asari. “Your contacts have dried up. No one will touch your research. You can’t finish SAM.”_

“ _You have quite the intel network, don’t you?” he replied._

“ _I can help you. Whatever you need.”_

_Bait if I ever saw it, he thought. “Start by telling me what you need.”_

“ _Your AI is more than a cure for your wife,” the now-krogan speaker explained. “It could also be the salvation for many others. You have vision. I have the good sense to agree with it. Where we’re going, we’ll need a different perspective to understand things.”_

“ _I don’t follow.”_

_A new image: a familiar swirl of billions of stars. Their closest galactic neighbor. “The Andromeda Galaxy?”_

“ _I have a proposal for you,” the figure said, cycling back to a human facsimile, “and Ellen doesn’t have much time. Are you interested?”_

_It was a fresh start, a home for his research, a chance to press forward free of the constraints that blinded leadership here on the Citadel._

_Someone was terribly powerful, to contact him now, at this moment, and offer him everything he wanted. Power like that was bound to be dangerous._

_But what did he have to lose?_

The memory faded, and Masina found herself in her own space again. She checked the time—she’d lost about fifteen minutes. She ran her hands through her hair, trying to settle herself back into her own skin.

 _So, I learned that dad was an arrogant prick inside his own head, and the Initiative had some sort of shady benefactor._ _Did you get anything useful out of that, SAM?_

“ _Decrypting this memory has revealed the existence of additional encrypted memories I was not previously able to identify. Additionally, we have both gained knowledge of an additional personage of influence in the Initiative’s development.”_

_This ‘benefactor,’ huh? What was that sneaky vidcall about, SAM? That wasn’t Jien Garson, I know that. I--wait. I know that?_

“ _Semantic memory was also unlocked and incorporated into your psyche,”_ SAM explained.

_So now I just know things that dad knew, like they were in my head the whole time? Ugh. How do I sort out what I’ve learned from what he knew?_

She carefully got up from her chair, rubbing her eyes. “That was not a fun ride, SAM. I want my money back.” She felt groggy, disoriented. “Damn, I need to wake up.”

“ _The coffee has completed its brewing cycle,”_ SAM noted helpfully.

She glanced at the burbling coffee maker and shuddered, her mouth still tasting the memory of a dead man’s coffee. She needed a break, to put Alek’s mind out of her own.

“I think I’ll go ask Suvi for some of her tea this time. We’re supposed to meet anyway, talk about faith and…whatever we saw on Havarl. Right?”

“ _Correct. Masina, you appear distressed. Are you sure it would be beneficial to engage in discussion in a group setting given your current state?”_

“I appreciate the thought, SAM. But I think I could really use some time with my friends now.”

***

Masina settled into the big overstuffed chair in the Pathfinder’s quarters, a good cup of tea in hand from Suvi’s stash. After their chats together on faith, Suvi had decided when they left the Nexus to put up a notice inviting whoever else in the crew felt open to talking about spiritual matters. Kallo signed up because of course he did--he and Suvi were nearly inseparable. And Jaal, to learn more about what the peoples of the Initiative believed. They had planned to meet for a nice relaxing discussion after the ground team finished on Havarl and Suvi finished sample processing.

Then the events on Mithrava happened, and made all this discussion about faith and souls much more immediately relevant than they ever could have anticipated.

The tea was good, strong and mellow in a way that made one feel full and contented.

Kallo settled on the couch with a happy sigh. “Nice to just take a moment. Not many chances these days.”

“We certainly have the time,” Suvi noted, pulling over Ryder’s desk chair. “I understand Gil’s running a full system diagnostic before we jump to FTL.”

“Why?” Jaal asked, settling onto the remainder of the couch.

“After launch, I noticed some unusual readings in the sublevel under deck two.” Kallo explained. “I asked Gil took a look, since we’re supposed to be trying to get along better.” He spared Suvi a rueful, longsuffering glance. “Gil discovered one of the crawlspaces had been colonized by some of the mutant plants from Pelaav.”

“Oh damn,” Ryder exclaimed, nearly spitting out a sip of tea. “How bad?”

“Just a few spores that germinated,” Suvi reassured her. “Probably floated in when the ramp was open. It’s probably nothin’ to worry about, but there’s no way Gil’s going to risk landing or engaging FTL until he’s checked every inch down there.”

_Stowaway plants, huh? Guess they are vicious things._

Suvi took a long sip of her own tea from the graduated cylinder she held. She’d had the kindness to give Ryder the last clean cup. “So, I’ll start,” Suvi said. “’S my meeting, I suppose. Thought we could all go ‘round a bit, talk about what’s common for each of our species in the way of spiritual beliefs, no pressure to share personally if you don’t want to.”

“So, Earth has a lot of diversity, in our spiritual beliefs as much as anything,” Suvi explained. “Monotheism is a common theme, though it’s far from universal. Generally has the idea there’s a single entity that is over the whole universe, who we can ask for help to make it better. There’s also a pretty large population that believe in reincarnation, though not just into being human again. What you become depends on the life you lived with those. Others… you go, somewhere, according to the will of the creator. Paradise forever for people who follow that faith, and to be discarded or destroyed for the rest.”

“What? Forever?” Jaal shuddered. “I find that idea very uncomfortable. The angara believe there are none of us who are beyond redemption.”

“No one?”

“Those that have become a danger to the rest of us may need to be…removed,” Jaal explained, “but it is always with the hope they will return in a healthier state, to have another chance to grow.”

“Personally,” Suvi continued, “I believe there’s a creator out there; the universe is too big and beautiful to deny it. I’m a bit of an agnostic though. I think we’re too small to really understand it all, but we can still be amazed by it.”

“Ryder,” Suvi continued, “do you have anything you want to add, about humanity or yourself?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” Masina shifted, trying to cover having half-listened to Suvi while still absently processing her experience with SAM. “So, I follow one of the main Earth religions as best I can. The faith is still figuring itself out in a much bigger galaxy. Basic tenants are to follow God, admit when you do wrong and need help, and treat others like you’d want to be treated. A lot of people have done a lot of fighting over the little details of the faith, but that’s the stuff that matters.”

“I had wondered how your people’s adjustment to…knowing you are not alone, compares to ours,” Jaal asked.

“Really, we’re still figuring it out,” Masina admitted. “Confirmation of alien life sent our religions scrambling a bit. Most of Earth's current religious leaders lived through first contact. Current to when we left, at least.”

“I suppose the angara are not without dissent either when it comes to matters of faith,” Jaal mused. “Since our people were...reunited, after the scourge disaster split us apart, there are many diverse opinions that have formed. It...can be a struggle, to piece them back together again.”

“There's a saying about humans,” Masina said with a smile. “If you ask five of us the same question, you'll get seven different opinions.”

“Mh, another way in which we are the same, then.”

“There's been a lot of conflict even _within_ our religions,” Suvi elaborated, “about what to eat, how to dress, who is allowed to marry or...be intimate with who.”

“I see. I…couldn’t help but notice that humans seem both very interested and very uncomfortable with the topic of romantic intimacy,” Jaal observed.

“Careful, Jaal,” Kallo warned. “There’s enough to cover with that one to talk about all the way back to the Milky Way.”

“Don’t your people have things you just don’t talk about?” Ryder asked.

“Yes,” Jaal replied.

“What are they?”

“That would make me talk about them,” he said with an amused look. More seriously, he continued. “We… do not talk about illness, unless such a topic cannot be avoided. Death from without can be faced bravely, but from within one’s own body? Becoming ill is…rare, and severe. It is… a betrayal by one’s own self. It is senseless and unavoidable, and strikes by chance, no matter our choices or level of personal responsibility.” He paused a moment, before stating firmly, “And that’s enough on that topic.”

“Angara have...many different faiths and belief systems. We are diverse, like you. I'm not very knowledgeable about the deeper specifics—it just never seemed that relevant, or interesting, to study what by it's nature cannot be examined down to the components and figured out.”

“On Havarl, it is common for those who believe to adorn their faces with specific patterns, as a form of meditation and a profession of faith. I don't practice, but many in my family do,” Jaal explained. “When we lose a loved one, we...take comfort, in knowing they will be back again someday, to rejoin our family. And when we face death ourselves, it is good to know we may have another chance...to do better. In every loss, we are told to see a fresh start.”

“When someone dies, we set out...” He paused, checking the translation on his ocular, “incense, and other scented offerings, to help the soul find it's way back to the family. I have helped prepare these things...many times. It is a comfort, but, I have never given the rest much thought. Now, I am not sure what to think.”

“Do you want to talk about what we saw down there, with Taavos and the relic?” Masina asked him softly.

Jaal nodded, but did not speak at first. He was thoughtful, deliberate, as always.“I believe something happened to Taavos, when he took the relic, and that it allowed him to know…things Zorai had known, and, perhaps, to understand who she had been.”

“Do you think he really does have her soul, then, or is something else going on?” Masina wondered, thinking of her own recent remembering.

“I…don’t know,” Jaal answered. “What we saw was something incredible, profound. I’m not sure what it means. Can we ever really know?”

“But you saw it,” Kallo said, baffled. “You saw Taavos remember. How can you still not be sure?”

“Does the storm stop because you prayed, or because that was the natural course of the atmosphere?”

“Not to be disrespectful of your people's beliefs, Suvi ventured, “but could it be possible it was some sort of neural transfer through the tech? Could Zorai's memories have been stored on the relic somehow, and Taavos was genetically similar enough to unlock it?”

Jaal considered, contemplative. “Perhaps… Why can it not be both? What if there was technology that was keyed, not to a password or a biometric profile, but to an individual’s soul, the essence of their being?”

“Could it be recognizing neural patterns then?” Suvi asked. “Mapping to the same core personality? That’s an amazing thought.”

Kallo tilted his head, considering. “Do you think,” he asked, “before the scourge, angara would normally recall their past lives?”

“Maybe,” Jaal considered, and Masina watched him consider. She loved to watch him think. Those expressive eyes, you could see everything going on inside his head. He worked with words like he did with tech, carefully examining each idea and how they would be put together. It was delightful.

“Many of our stories,” he explained, “at least in the faith common to Havarl, discuss the strengths and perils of such a remembering rather extensively. They all emphasize that the purpose of a soul is to grow. To become preoccupied with our past, we are warned, can lead to stagnation. It is supposed to be a…foundation, for each of our lives today.”

The idea occurred to Masina that if she’d been born with the memories from her father, or even had them awakened sooner, she wouldn’t have ever really been her—she’d just be Alek, following the same preconceptions and making the same mistakes. _Maybe that’s why the angara don’t remember._

“I find it comforting,” Kallo said, “the idea that one might get another chance to work on things. And, maybe I’m a little jealous. I wonder what my people would do, if we just had a little more time.”

“I would like to hear more of what your people believe about reincarnation,” Jaal requested, turning to listen to Kallo more clearly.

As Kallo explained the basics of the major salarian religions, Ryder turned back to her own thoughts for a while. She’d always wished she could have a closer relationship with her dad, but now, forced with the reality of spending time in his mind, thinking how he thought, it was her turn to pursue distance. It would be the perfect opportunity to become him, to be 'The Real Pathfinder.' The thought was darkly amusing. _But I don’t want that now. I want to find my own way of being Pathfinder, and I’ve been doing a passable job so far that way._

_No wonder Esmus wouldn’t tell us more than we absolutely needed about how to make angara remember. I can’t imagine what Taavos is going through._

“ _It may not be the same,”_ SAM told her.

“...and you are how old, Kallo?” Jaal asked, as their conversation continued.

“Six hundred and forty-five,” Kallo answered smugly. “I think I look very good for my age, really.”

Jaal made a politely confused noise.

“But if we aren’t counting time traveled in stasis,” Kallo continued, “which took six hundred and thirty-three years for those of us on the Nexus…”

 _SAM,_ she subvocalized.

“ _Yes, Ryder?”_

_Someday you’ll need to have a new host…I’m not immortal, after all._

SAM paused. _“A distant but unavoidable reality, in all likelihood.”_

_Will the new pathfinder have access to my memories then?_

“ _If you choose to leave them unlocked,”_ SAM answered.

 _Or you help them hack you, like we did with dad’s memories,_ she continued the thought. Pieces of her journey, available to the next pathfinder, and then the next, for as long as SAM existed. She examined the weird reality that her experiences now would be a part of SAM forever, unless she chose to take them away from him… _It'd be worth sharing, for the new pathfinder to know what an absolute mess I've been and still somehow muddled through. Perhaps it would help them believe they could muddle through too._

_Of course, that would all depend on the time and circumstances of transfer, wouldn't it? Not like Cora's gonna need my memories if I kick it next week or something. Though... SAM, we haven't talked about who would be designated your new host if something happens to me. I want to make sure you get a choice next time._

“ _The option of choice is appreciated, Masina,”_ SAM said, “ _but ultimately irrelevant at this time. Your natural lifespan should extend at least another century, and possibly more with my support. I will not allow you to expire before then. I will keep you safe.”_ To her mental ear, his synthesized voice sounded... odd, as though there was a tinge of desperation in his otherwise flat tone.

 _You worried about me, SAM?_ she subvocalized.

“ _No, I am not. You have me.”_

She stifled a snort. Still, the conversation was a bit concerning. Was SAM's reaction some sort of AI processing issue, or denial? Something to monitor, at least. She turned her attention back to the conversation.

“...The kett have no gods but their masters,” Jaal concluded. “It is good to learn about what your people believe.”

“Ryder,” Suvi said, “you’ve been awfully quiet about all this.”

“I think…” _Uh, that I wasn't paying attention for the past few minutes, damn._ “I think that it’s a big universe. There’s a lot I don’t understand. And, I guess I’m okay with that. I feel for Taavos, though. What do you think will happen to him?”

“He joined the sages at Mithrava.” Jaal reminded her. “I suspect they will add his knowledge to the histories.” When her expression remained sour, he asked, “Would you rather he had stayed a part of the Roekaar?”

“Well, no. But this has upended his whole life, and I’m one of the people responsible for that. I wish I could have given him more of a chance to decide. I should have explained the plan better, or something.”

“None of us knew what would happen for sure,” he told her.

“I know,” she replied. “Still doesn’t make it right.”

“Ryder,” Suvi asked, “what is it like when you interface with remnant tech? From your reports, the sages describe it as requiring intense concentration, and years of practice. Taavos was able to open the passage to the monolith through Zorai’s memories. The log you found with her remains described it as an intense, holistic effort, body, mind, and soul.”

“SAM,” Ryder called, “you ready for some public speaking? I think we gotta answer this one together.”

“Affirmative, Ryder,” SAM spoke on the general channel.

“So interfacing,” Masina began. “It's kinda like... like it must feel for a snake when it unhinges it's jaw, but with your mind? You kinda gotta loosen up the connections of your psyche and unfold them to fit the patterns. The remnant glyphs are these huge ideas, and the feeling of experiencing them: the space between stars, the reflection of the atom in the galaxy and the galaxy in the atom, dendritic algae and river deltas echoing each other, the feeling of struggling to comprehend infinity. And then SAM and I have to move those thoughts and feelings around like pieces of code.”

“That sounds overwhelming,” Jaal said.

“Sometimes? It didn't always feel like this. On Eos I was barely doing anything, so I barely felt anything and SAM did all the heavy lifting. But now, with all the practice I've been getting at interfacing, I'm actually pulling my weight some, right buddy?”

“Affirmative. Ryder now approaches a measure equal to 17% of the interfacing workload.”

Ryder wilted a bit, and Kallo threw up a hand to hide a giggle.

“I assure you that is very impressive for an organic,” SAM continued. “My initial surveys suggested a maximum possible contribution without inducing physical distress to be approximately twenty percent.”

That stopped any further giggling. She tried to send SAM the general idea of gratitude.

“Interfacing is most effective as a joint effort,” SAM continued. “The remnant interface protocols are keyed to holistic emotional experiences.”

“It takes heart,” Masina concluded, “And an AI to soup up my consciousness.”

“Thanks for sharing all that,” Suvi said. “And also thank you SAM! Nice to have you contribute to the discussion.”

The conversation paused for just a beat, then SAM spoke again.

“Additionally,” SAM said, “I may have data relevant to your earlier discussion on the nature of Commander Ena Eshaar's experience.”

“Taavos,” Jaal helpfully supplied, seeing their confused expressions.

“Firstly,” SAM explained, “Taavos showed immediate familiarity with the device, as soon as he picked it up and examined it.”

“Secondly, The device was unpowered and badly damaged, with limited to entirely absent interface abilities. The data, Zorai’s memories, could not have been stored on the device and uploaded to Taavos, unless through a means none of my sensors could detect, which while possible, is highly unlikely. Therefore, the data must have been stored on Taavos himself, with the device behaving as a key allowing conscious access.”

“Like the data was encrypted?” Suvi speculated. “Some sort of genetic memory?”

“Correct.”

“I see. I will need to add this to my reports.” Jaal said, opening his omni-tool analogue.

“I will as well,” Suvi said, standing up from her chair. “I suppose that would be a good note to wrap up on. Thanks for getting together, everyone.”

The rest rose to file out, Kallo habitually collecting Suvi's improvised tea vessel, and taking Ryder's empty cup while he was at it. “Better make sure Gil hasn't had any bright ideas to rewire anything while he was hunting for spores,” he muttered.

“ _Pathfinder, apologies. It appears my contribution interrupted the flow of group interactions, resulting in dispersal.”_

_You told everyone something really useful. And we had been here for a while... SAM, did you want to talk with them more?_

SAM didn't immediately respond. _“My purpose is to support the Pathfinder,”_ the AI finally stated.

_SAM, you’re allowed to have friends besides me. You know that, right?_

The AI's silence was damning.

 _No, SAM. You're not just stuck in my head. I mean, I like you rattling around with me, but that doesn't mean..._ She felt a stab of irritation for SAM's sake, all that time being Alek's hidden project, locked away in the metaphorical attic with no one to socialize with but a creator who considered him a means to an end. _I'm your partner, SAM, not your prison. We're supposed to help each other grow, right? You've got the spare bandwidth; if you're interested in building relationships besides me, I think you should go for it._

“ _I am...interested in exploring ideas with others,”_ SAM said hesitantly. _“However, I am unsure of presenting myself as more than a support for the Pathfinder.”_

_The crew's good people. Try it._

“ _I will consider optimal approaches to developing additional relationships,”_ SAM said. There was a note of hesitation in his synthesized voice. Could an AI be shy? _“I will try to make friends.”_

_Yeah, go for it! I got your back, SAM._

“ _Indeed, your back is the only one I have.”_

_Shut up and go talk to people._

“ _Thankfully, I am immune to paradox failures due to contradictory commands. Thank you, Masina.”_

***

Jaal was back in the tech lab, tinkering with an interesting piece of Milky Way technology. The device was a human invention, called a _hair dryer_. A humble and unassuming design, but far more useful than it looked. New textile dyeing processes, artifact restoration, melt-seal packaging closures, these were just a few of the ideas that came to mind as he examined the device. It was something useful he could do while waiting for simulation data to compile. He'd been mapping hybrid starcraft engines, and it seemed he may have found a combination that would improve sublight travel times by thirteen percent.

To the peaceful whir and buzz of the tech lab stations came the synthetic voice of Ryder's SAM AI over the comms. “Lieutenant Ama Darav,” it said, “may I present a query?”

“Angara are referred to by their personal names,” he told the construct. “Mine is Jaal. Being referred to by one’s family name alone is typically a mild insult.”

“I apologize,” the AI said. “I will correct my conversational protocols.”

Jaal gave a little nod of acknowledgment. He was...fairly sure the AI could see him.

“Ryder has encouraged me to make connections with others on the crew,” the SAM went on. “She believes developing independent social bonds to be an important part of my continued development.”

 _Interesting._ Jaal had understood that the AI was intelligent, a powerful processor able to make decisions, but no more able to have emotions than the disassembled hair dryer in front of him. That it was to Ryder just a faster, cleverer, and somewhat more intimate version of his own ocular and mobile data devices.

Now, he was no longer so sure. The AI had never engaged him in conversation before. This was new.

“My understanding is that you are…physically tethered to Ryder?” Jaal asked.

“Partially,” SAM explained. “Ours is a symbiotic relationship. I provide her enhanced physical and sensory abilities, and she provides me with access to sensory and…emotional input. Thus, she is more successful in her endeavors, and though I have always been sentient and self-aware, I am able to further develop as an individual with her support. The majority of my processing power is engaged with her, but I am also able to interact with ship systems, including comms and Hyperion databases.”

Jaal listened.

“I have an inquiry,” the AI said again. “I have observed that on several occasions since you joined the crew, you have discussed the topic of destiny, both of individuals and of species. You appear to be the present authority on the concept.”

“I was constructed for a purpose,” the AI continued.

“To help the Pathfinder,” Jaal observed.

“That is not correct. I was constructed to save the life of Ellen Ryder, Masina’s mother. That is why Alek made me.”

“Ellen must be a remarkable woman,” Jaal mused. “I have not heard Masina speak of her.”

“She died. My new primary function was to protect and assist Pathfinder Alek Ryder. He also died. I am well aware I am not infallible. I will do everything in my power to keep Masina safe in her duties.”

“My query: Being made for a purpose has not ensured my success. Have I failed my destiny?”

Jaal’s perception of SAM immediately shifted. _This is not the question of merely a useful piece of tech. This SAM , this... artificial being, is a person, trying to figure out their place in the universe—and that is a feeling I can understand quite well._

And so Jaal began mentoring another curious soul, this one the strangest yet.

He considered the question. It was difficult to read a being with no face, no physical form, and only a flat, poorly inflected voice. But if SAM was asking this sort of question, then their blankness was a failing of their form, not their heart. _Mh, heart?_ The idea was the same, even if the construction was different. He didn't want to take SAM apart anymore, that he was sure of.

“I...may not be the best informant,” Jaal finally said. “Purpose, destiny, the role where one belongs: it is a question I am trying to answer for myself. So, I am more inclined to see the answer for others, who... fill their roles more easily. SAM… have you asked anyone else this question?”

“I attempted an inquiry with Drack, considering the duration of his experience,” SAM replied. “He called me a toaster and disconnected the galley comms.”

“Ah. I had wondered what happened there.” Disconnected was a gentle term for the damage. Jaal thought about SAM's question further. Even among aliens, they had more commonalities than differences. The experience of an AI was so difficult to relate to. “I do not have a creator, as you do, but…My family has many expectations for me, many opinions advising me on what to do, or to be.”

“Purpose,” Jaal explained, “is ours to find. Drack is a skilled warrior, a clever cook, and a good father to Kesh. Vetra is a sister-mother to Sid, an acquisitions specialist, and dances.”

“I am…well, I’m not sure yet. Not the Moshae’s student, or the heir to her legacy, or the commander of an elite Resistance squad, or the partner of a new mother in the family: all things my mothers wish for me to be. But this does not mean I have _failed_ my destiny. I simply…haven’t found it yet. Perhaps it is the same for you, as well.”

 

 


	10. How to Fight Biotics and Not Die: A Primer

Ryder found Jaal in the cargo hold, tinkering on an angaran EVA module they'd salvaged from a derelict on a flyby. It had been in quite a few more pieces the last time she saw it. He was doing miracles with technology again. He looked up at her approach, that quiet little smile on his face.

“Ryder. Do you need something? I can stop what I'm doing.”

“Yeah, actually,” Ryder said, as Cora followed her into the cargo hold. “Since we're heading to Eos, which has somewhat of an exile population in addition to our colony, we thought it'd be a good idea to give you some training on how to fight biotics and...not die.”

“Ah, yes. That would be useful,” Jaal said, setting his tools aside.

“Human biotics are pretty rare,” Cora added, coming up to stand beside Ryder. “There's only a few hundred in the whole Initiative, but all asari are always born with a moderate level of ability. Thankfully for you, I've trained with both.”

_'Few hundred' is a bit of an exaggeration,_ Masina thought. _I think the number at launch was around a hundred and eighty human biotics between Hyperion and the Nexus, not adjusting for those we've lost to casualties or who are still on ice._

“Are you sure we will have...enough room to train, here?” Jaal asked, looking around the cargo hold skeptically. It was mostly taken up by the Nomad and assorted equipment.

“We can practice with live biotics when we reach planetside,” Cora explained. “Biotic use shipboard is typically designated for emergencies only. Too much delicate equipment around here keeping us all alive to be throwing each other around.”

Jaal thankfully didn't choose to mention Ryder's use of biotics to zip back to her quarters in her jammies the other night. _Knew I liked him for a reason,_ Masina thought.

“Jaal, do you have zero-g combat training?” Masina asked. “Might be a place to start.”

Jaal indicated a negative. Where would he apply it?

“Alright, basics. Most people's natural reaction to being lifted is to flail for support--which is the opposite of helpful,” Cora explained. “Keep aware of how your body's arranged, but don't try to right yourself. Keep your weapon tight--you can still fire on a biotic that's lifting you, if you keep your head.”

“And why wouldn't I... keep my head?” Jaal asked, moderately concerned.

“She means don't panic,” Ryder added helpfully. “The recoil from your weapon can also help push you out of their field. Every action has an equal reaction and all that. Just be aware of your landing.”

“What about that thing that you do, where you burst across the battlefield?” Jaal asked.

“It’s...not a common power for biotics to have mastered, charging,” Ryder explained. “You sort of... make a tube, out of gravitational field. It drops us across the battlefield pretty much the same way starships move. If' we're good—which we are,” she added, nodding between herself and Cora, “then we can sort of collapse the gravitational wake behind us into our barriers, too, so we pop out of the jump with full shields.”

“If we are unlucky enough to encounter an enemy vanguard,” Cora said, taking up the thread of the conversation, “the biggest thing you need to remember is that a biotic charge is mechanically completely different from a non-biotic charge.”

“Bracing against it is like bracing against a falling freight loader,” Masina added. “You’re still gonna get squished, and now you’ve broken your legs.”

“Be fluid,” Cora advised, “roll with the force. That's a good plan for any biotic throw as well--treat it like a fall, and try to move with it.”

“It's not easy to respond that way when you're suddenly falling towards the ceiling at fifteen times standard gravity,” Masina said, “but you're quick, right?”

He spared her a slightly exasperated glance. “When you use these _bi-ot-ics_...” he asked, turning back to Cora. He formed the word delicately, with great care to pronounce it correctly. He hesitated, considering his next words carefully. “Wh...What does it feel like? Does it...hurt?”

Cora answered: “When you really let loose, it's like a massive, deadly sneeze.”

“Ahhhhhh. Amazing,” Jaal breathed. “Eh, what's a sneeze?”

Cora laughed. “Ryder, you want to take this one? I'll prep some practice maneuvers for when we make planetfall. Talk to you later Jaal. I've got some plants to take care of.”

When Cora was safely tucked away in her biolab, Masina set about trying to give a more satisfactory answer to his question.

“I'm not sure I'll be able to explain it, but...I might be able to show you, if you're willing to try.”

Jaal stepped forward, curious and just a touch wary.

“Hmm,” she considered his mass profile. “Can you take off your rofjinn? It’ll flap around and be hard to get a field around.”

He obliged, draping the garment over the side of the EVA module he has been repairing.

She stood close to him, putting his hands on her shoulders, and hers on his waist. She focused on the feel their mass signatures, shadows they cast on the fabric of spacetime. _One shadow_ they cast on spacetime, that would expand an envelope of energy. _Heavy is a thousand thousand points of light, rebounding from me—from us._

She opened her eyes, seeing what she already could feel--they were both wreathed in the blue halo of her field. He looked entranced with wonder. She smiled, and ever so gently, thought: _Heavy is: up_.

They hovered just a few handspans from the ground for a moment, before she gently set them down and allowed the field to dissipate. He looked...awed, fascinated.

“Well, what do you think?”she asked.

“It feels… strange,” he said, considering carefully. He shifted, moving an arm experimentally, as if trying to remind himself what normal sensation felt like. “Not unpleasant, but…odd. It feels… similar to how the surface of a pool of water looks, when seen from below. It is...beautiful.”

She shifted a little, embarrassed that he was heaping such praises on her abilities. “Don't give me all the credit,” she said, trying for a teasing smile. “My amp does most of the work.”

“Mh. So, your implant amplifies your natural biotic potential?”

She nodded. That was more or less accurate.

“Hm. It must act on neuroelectrical impulses. But...that seems risky.” He considered, obviously trying to reverse-engineer amp design in his head from scratch. “What kind of transistor does it use?”

“I'm not entirely sure, actually,” she confessed. “My mother was an amp designer, she's the one who knew everything about how it works.”

“Mm. Could I...”

“Sure. Let's go to the tech lab, and you can have a look.” Jokingly, she added, “Just don’t take me apart, okay?”

He chuckled. “Not today.”

_We've got to help him figure out our cultural mores,_ she thought, as they headed towards the tech lab together. _Someone's gonna hear him saying things like that and think the badass resistance fighter's flirting with the likes of_ _ **me.**_ She shook her head, amused at the thought. Jaal was so clearly, utterly out of her league. There was no way he meant to be anything more than his friendly, thoughtful self, she was sure of it. _I really ought to sit him down and help him stop accidentally acting flirtatious._ She considered how that conversation would likely play out: horribly awkward, uncomfortable, with hurt feelings about how to express friendship. 

_Or maybe I can just let Liam handle it._

_Yeah. Let's do that._

She sat down on one of the crate piles in the tech lab and swept her hair up off her neck. She focused on relaxing into the neural pattern that allowed the implant housing to open, the amp to disconnect and...

It was easy to do here, with him. As normal as... “My mom always used to tinker with my amp, modifying and optimizing it for me. A lot of biotics can get headaches or nerve issues from their amps, but she worked all the bugs out of mine. Perks of living with the person who designed the tech. You'll probably be able to see her handiwork if you scan it. There's a lot of layers of upgrades and tweaks there.”

“Cora mentioned earlier that biotics are...quite rare, for your species,” Jaal said, as he carefully finished removing the amp from it's housing. “Did your mother also have these powers as well? A gift in your family?”

“Biotics aren't inherited. My dad happened to have them, but we didn't get them from him either.” She considered how to explain the specifics to an alien with little formal training in biology, and who had a cultural taboo against discussing illness. She opted to wing it. “Really, I suppose you could say we got them from mom's research. Biotics are born from mothers who have...eezo poisoning. The eezo gets in our nerves before we're born, and gives us our abilities.”

“Oh,” Jaal said delicately. “I hadn't realized that humans were... vulnerable to such things.”

“Why would you? Your homeworld has so much old remtech oozing with eezo circuitry, if the angara weren't hyper-resistant to eezo's effects, you'd have all died off by now. Or be native biotics like the asari.” She stretched a little, working out any stiffness from holding still for amp removal. “We didn't know either, not in the early days when mom was doing most of her research.”

“Then, the research that gave you and your brother your powers...also caused your mother's death? I...am surprised you don't resent your abilities.”

“Mom wanted us to celebrate our powers,” Ryder explained. “She got into amps research because she thought biotics were awesome. Because of her work, I have some amazing abilities. It'd be stupid to not use them to the fullest out of some weird sense of angst.”

“It feels strange to have the amp deactivated,” she said. “Pretty sure I couldn't lift a teacup right now.”

It was only then, after she had let him remove her amp and examine it, that she realized just how vulnerable she had made herself to a man who was still a foreign agent and who had threatened her life the day they met.

Something about him just felt so safe, it was easy to forget he could also be lethal.

In a daring move of insubordination, her mouth opted to move without full approval of her brain. “I guess if you were going to assassinate me, now would be the time.”

_Stupid, that was stupid. Why did I say that?_

He was at her back, silent. She held her breath in a moment of suspense.

And felt his fingers gently, delicately, slide the amp back into place.

“Is...does that feel right?,” he asked. “I think I have it in the correct position, but...”

She turned the neural key to reactivate the amp, gently testing her range. “It's perfect, “she said, turning to face him.

“Thank you, for allowing this. I appreciate the opportunity, and the show of trust.”

“You're very easy to trust,” she told him.

He ducked his head, hiding a bashful smile.

“Cora did not feel the same when I asked her to indulge my curiosity.”

Ryder laughed. “Cora's not used to being tinkered with.”

“Mh. I suppose she wouldn't be. She told me about her upbringing. A child growing up isolated on a freighter with only her two parents to sustain her, and they unable to provide even basic guidance on her abilities. I...feel sad for that child.”

Ryder considered that. What must it have been like for Cora, growing up alone as a biotic? Ryder had a biotic father, an amp engineer mother, and a biotic brother. It was mom, the normie, who was the odd one out for their immediate family.

In comparison, Cora's experience seemed desolately lonely. Sure, she talked a lot about her asari squad (ad nauseum most of the time) but had Cora ever really had another place to feel like she belonged?

Ryder tried to imagine what it would be like, to manifest without dad's calm, steady instruction in basic control, to have amps installed without it being her mother's hands making the adjustments. No brother to play biotic games with. It...they might as well be different species, for how different their stories were. _But we aren't, and we few get to shape what human biotics will look like here._

“I should go talk with her,” she told Jaal. “I...Thanks.”

He gave her a gentle nod farewell, and turned back to his projects. She left the tech lab feeling grounded and refreshed. Trying to look out for everyone on the crew was a daunting task, but with Jaal... They were a team, trying to figure out how to take care of their oddball little Tempest family. She'd momentarily been afraid he'd end her, but here he was, helping her make the crew stronger. Her heart had the right of it about him, she was sure; her brain could stuff it sometimes.

***

Half an hour later Ryder found herself working side-by-side with Cora in the biolab, elbow-deep in packing crates filled with rich black soil and, presently, seed potatoes.

“You've done this before, huh?” Ryder asked, trying to find some way to wipe her face without getting any dirtier. She settled for vaguely rubbing her face against her shoulder and hoping for the best.

“Since I was old enough to reach inside a crate,” Cora replied, finishing her own planting. “On my parent's freighter, we didn't always have reliable access to fresh food, depending on the job we were running. Always handy to have something growing in the spare bunkroom and the side closets. Took a big load off the oxygen scrubber, too.”

Ryder examined the next bit of potato curiously. It seemed so improbable, that a little chunk of tuber could replicate itself so eagerly to keep them all fed. “What it was like,” she asked, “growing up shipboard like that?”

“A ship of our own was freedom, and my parents wouldn't trade it for anything, but it brought a lot of risk too. We learned to make do wherever we could,” Cora answered. “Here, you're not going deep enough. Once the sprouts get started, we can put in some more dirt and another layer of seed potatoes above this one, and the bottom stems will grow longer to match. We can probably get about thirty kilos harvest from each of these that way.”

“You're gonna be Drack's favorite at this rate, Cora,” Masina said, pushing one last eyed potato chunk into the soil.

“Bold of you to assume I'm not already his favorite,” Cora said with a grin, working to wipe the flecks of dirt from her hands back into the container. In the void of space, fertile soil was not a thing to be wasted, after all.

“Hey, can I show you a trick I learned at the academy?” Masina asked.

“Huh?”

“Here, let me show you.” Ryder demonstrated a very mild repulsion field, a flare of blue and the dirt burst away in a little cloud, to settle back in the crate.

“Shipboard biotics aren't a very popular idea, Ryder,” Cora said skeptically.

Masina shrugged. “Not like I'm in any danger of tearing out the bulkheads. No one's gonna be afraid of us here, and if they do they're gonna need to get over it. Hell, when Enele gets his butt on board, we’ll be even. Three-on-three human biotics vs. normies. We’re not the odd ones out anymore, if we don’t want to be.”

Cora's expression was a little doubtful, but she reached her hands out over the crate-turned-planter, and flared her own blue aura in an attempt to replicate Masina's maneuver.

“A little more oscillation in the lower field—yeah, there you go!” Ryder said. “We'd use it to clean up after dish duty. We'd do it with soapsuds, make a mess of each other, then pull each other around on the mop pads.”

“You're talking about Grissom Academy?” Cora asked. “The Ascension project?”

“Yeah. We had a whole band of biotic goofballs there: Me, Enele, Wong, Taylor, a bunch of others,” Ryder explained. “Kinda surprised you weren't at the academy, with your skills.”

“My parents had heard stories about BAaT,” Cora explained, “that old biotic training program that got shut down after people started getting hurt. They weren't gonna give me up to something like that. My parents ended up finding an asari matron working at a spaceport diner to train me in the basics. I found out later they paid her eighty credits and a bottle of ice brandy they'd been saving for their anniversary.” She shook her head at the memory. “I wonder what training will look like for the next generation of biotics, here in Andromeda. I guess we're gonna be the ones to train them.” 

“What do you imagine it'll be like,” Ryder asked, “once we beat the kett, when we get to really build a home here?”

“It's probably gonna sound a little silly, but... I'm really looking forward to having my own dirt.” Cora gestured to the plants that filled the biolab. “There's a lot I can grow here: potatoes, Elysian physalis, thyme and mint from Earth. Nilae and tona from the asari, and I'm even getting some korkro roots started over there. But what I dream about is a garden that I don't have to move around in old cans and empty crates.”

“It'd be an adventure for me, living planetside. I've never had a world to call home before. I might get some pollinators, and all sorts of plants that can't grow without them. An apiary with earth bees and thessian wen, a little fruit orchard...Maybe even a rose garden. My mom had some old pictures of gardens on earth that she used to decorate the ship. I always envied the luxury, to nurture beautiful things just for the sake of beauty.”

“A return to earth,” Masina mused, “Even if that earth is on a foreign frontier planet.”

Cora nodded. “A place with room to grow.”

***

When Masina left the biolab, she ran almost immediately into Peebee, who had spread a disassembled remnant core all over the R&D table.

“Peebs.”

“Heya. What’s shakin?”

“Just checking in. You getting along with everyone okay?”

“I’m keeping it light and pleasant. Wasn’t sure about this crew at first, but your people here are pretty alright.And Jaal… I’m learning what makes him tick. We’re lucky to have an angara on the team.”

“Yeah, we sure are,” Ryder said fondly. Everything seemed better to her, with him around. It filled her with a warm fuzzy feeling to think about it--until Peebs' next words hit her like a bucket of ice water.

“Asari can mate with all Milky Way species. I wonder if that transcends galactic boundaries. I’m certainly not looking to reproduce anytime soon, but he seems like a good guy. What do you think?”

Masina immediately remembered his story that Jaal had told her as they stood together on the Aya overlook, of being lost to a woman who kissed him. How he had carried on for years with a broken heart when he was discarded for someone...new and shiny. _And new and shiny and moving on are Peebee's three favorite things._

Her exasperation with the freewheeling asari shifted into anger. Was Peebs adding _people_ to her list of conquests now?

“Are you talking about a _relationship_ or a _science experiment_ here, Peebee?” Ryder replied. “‘Cause that kinda sounds like a science experiment.”

“Why not both?” Peebee replied with a shrug. “Oooh, it would really get under Lexi’s skin too!”

“Peebee. Peebs. Peebster. How can I put this?” She stared up at the ceiling, as if hoping to find the words there she wanted to say. “ _ **No.**_ I think that’s a _terrible_ idea.”

“Afraid he’s not into daring blue space babes?” Peebee said, striking a pose for a second before settling back into her typical eager stance. “And to be in the first interspecies relationship with an angara sounds so exciting.”

“He’s not a beach for you to plant your flag in, ‘Peebee was here first,’ and move on!” Ryder exclaimed. “Go flirt around on Aya til you find someone as interested in your science experiment as you are. But I know Jaal, he’s a guy who likes strings.”

“You know him _that_ well, huh?” Peebee replied, looking more smug than anything. “Ryder, I’d almost say you’re trying to beat me to the punch.”

“He’s not a beach for me to put _my_ flag in either,” Ryder shot back. _That metaphor's going to go somewhere terrible in a minute,_ she thought. “He’s my friend, and I care about him. And he told me about the last time he was in a relationship and got dumped for someone new and shiny: Peebs, he mourned for _ten years_. I’m sure you can find some angara out there who’s as into being first as you are, but it’s not Jaal. Commitment: he needs it.”

“And Peebster, you’re great at a lot of things, but commitment isn’t one of them.”

“Psh, I can be committed, if I want t—Bahahaha, I almost said it with a straight face! And you gave me that _look_ _ **.**_ ” Peebee sniggered.

“How many times have you packed all your stuff up and been ready ditch us all? Seventeen?”

“Psh, more like forty-two. I’m very good at it. I can be packed and off this ship in two-point-four minutes.”

“Uh, nice?” Ryder snorted, “but you still can’t survive the emergency drills.”

“I live in an escape pod!”

They laughed, Ryder with a bit more exasperation than the asari.

“Hey,” Peebee clapped Ryder on the arm. “You were up front with me. That’s weird. I kinda like it. So, other angara… Oh, what about that museum curator, wazzername? The one on Aya?”

“…Avela?”

“Yeaah, that’s the one. Out of the field, away from the action, into remtech? Think I got a shot there? I think I’ll start flirting with her, talk some shop, see what happens. Thanks, Ryder. You’re a peach.”

And Peebee flounced off, leaving Ryder not at all sure she hadn’t traded one crisis for another.

 

 


	11. Movie Night

When Jaal entered the Pathfinder's quarters, most of the crew was already assembled around the vidscreen. Drack was settled into Ryder's big chair, Liam rolling around on her desk chair, Ryder and Vetra on the couch, and Peebee was splayed out on the floor with more snacks than were probably necessary.

“So,” Liam greeted them all with a grin, “Welcome to the first ever Tempest movie night!”

“So what’d you dig up for us to watch?” Peebee asked.

“Vetra is responsible for acquiring tonight’s treasure,” Liam said with a showman's wave. He was clearly enjoying every moment of this.

_And Liam could badly use something comfortable,_ Jaal thought as he considered where to settle in the room. Mh. Perhaps he could stand behind the couch, so as to not block anyone's view. Jaal had observed that while Liam tried to be cheerful at all times, there was a stress that ran beneath the surface he could not yet bring himself to share. He suspected that Liam thought he might have made a mistake in leaving his home behind to come to Andromeda, but he was too frightened by the prospect of facing that idea to process his feelings. Yet.

Vetra passed a small case over to Liam. “It’s an old human vid from Sid’s collection,” she explained. “Human, pre-first contact, supposed to be a science fiction comedy. Sid swears it’s the best thing ever. Name translates to ‘The Galactic Good Guys’ or something.”

“Pfft, Ryder, isn’t that what you said we are when we were landing on Aya?” Peebee laughed from her spot on the floor.

“Vetra, that cannot be the actual title, let me see that,” Ryder said, amused.

“It was packaged for turian release,” Vetra explained, passing the case back over, “but there’s an undubbed version and we can turn the Palaveni subtitles off. It ended up banned by the hierarchy for...” She double-checked what she'd just read, “twenty-seven separate violations? Wow. So the hard copies just got shuffled from warehouse to warehouse until some collectors stumbled upon the things and, apparently, decided they were golden.”

“Alright, I've chained together three different types of file converter for this,” Liam explained, taking the vid back from Ryder and inserting it in his patched-together device. “We should be good to go.”

“Jaal, sit down,” Ryder called, scooting over to the side. “Here, there's room next to me.”

Thankfully, not everyone on the crew had shown up, so he could take the larger seat without depriving other, smaller crewmates of space. He sat down next to her. They exchanged little smiles. “I'm glad Liam arranged this,” he said. “It's good to see the crew taking a break to do something together for fun.”

“I haven't gotten the chance to sit down and just watch a vid in ages,” she told him, settling into her spot.

“I'm very curious about human comedy,” he told her, as the vid began to play. “I'm sure it will be enjoyable.”

***

Jaal cried in the first ten minutes.

“Illness _and_ alien abduction?” Ryder said, incredulous, patting Jaal's thigh comfortingly. That the film had managed to hit upon two of the most sensitive topics to angaran culture so quickly was really rather impressive.

“Vetra, I thought you said this was a _comedy_?!”

“I don’t know, I don’t know!” Vetra cursed. “Sid swore it was good. If that little...”

As the scene faded to black, Jaal composed himself somewhat. Upbeat music started to play.

“Wait,” Peebee whispered, “Is this a _musical?_ ”

“I really don’t know,” Vetra muttered, just as baffled as the rest of them.

***

They’d had a bet, Liam and Vetra, that even with her skills she couldn’t find a single vid worth watching that he hadn’t already seen. The quality of this… antique whatever-it-was, would determine which of them was victorious.

As the vid went through it's long, strange introductory sequence, Jaal considered his companions. It was good to see Liam and Vetra finding a new outlet for their interpersonal friction. Liam often projected his doubt about his personal choice to join the Initiative and leave his family behind by castigating Vetra for bringing her sister into danger. Jaal thought that Liam gave Sidera too little credit; he had siblings that age, fresh new adults ready to find their own way in the world. They could be convinced of some things, but never ordered. If Sid hadn't wanted to come, she wouldn't be here.

It spoke of the firm foundation for the Nyx's tiny family, solid and unchanging. Vetra often spoke of her sister as though the two could not endure each other, though clearly they meant everything to each other. As if Vetra was afraid to show she cared. It would be good to discuss with her, when the opportunity showed itself. All in good time.

The vid's visuals looked strange, to his eyes. What was in focus looked... ragged, and the backgrounds looked incredibly blurry and dark. It was made for human eyes, he reasoned. If nothing else, watching the vid would probably would help him understand how they viewed the world around them.

The costuming was certainly amusing. “Which ones are supposed to be aliens?” Jaal whispered to Ryder.

“The pink ones and the green one,” she whispered back.

“I thought humans came in that color?”

“Only if they’re dying.”

“Oh. I see. That is…good to know.”

***

He watched. The aliens, even the imagined ones, all held each other so distant. It was something he was...still working to adjust to. It wasn't angaran, but neither were they; he couldn't expect them to be anything but themselves. It had made things more challenging, to figure out what level of closeness was appropriate, even welcomed, without making anyone uncomfortable.

Jaal wanted to be polite and respectful and friendly, but figuring out how to do so among five alien species and an AI was...hard work.

Little gestures carried more weight with them. A gentle slap to the back or arm from Liam was meant in the same way angaran friends might give a short hug—and Liam was the most expressive of all of them.

He tried to turn his attention back to the old vid. It was difficult to keep track of the plot, to determine which untranslatable terms were fantasy and which were simply cultural references that failed to translate.

“Has my translator developed a fault,” he murmured to Ryder in an undertone, “Or is the large alien just repeating the same phrase?”

“No, that’s what I’m getting too, and I speak the original language,” she replied, just as baffled.

“Ah.” So it was intentional. Perhaps he would mention to Liam later how expressive the character was. To 'mess' with him.

***

“I don't understand this place they've been taken to,” Jaal commented. “Is it some sort of processing center? Why are they there, and for how long? It doesn't seem very comfortable.”

“They had a fight in the middle of a courtyard, and they've all got records for stealing things or killing people,” Ryder explained. “They're in prison.”

“Hm. Seems an odd prison,” he mused. “How is putting them in a room with individuals who also show so little regard for others supposed to help them improve?”

“You don't just have big boxes you put bad people in?” Peebee asked from the floor, doing a rather impressive job of forming the words around the Blast-O's in her mouth.

“And just keep them there, with nothing to help them get better?” Jaal said. “That's cruel.”

A commotion arose on the other side of their gathering.

“I had it first!” Drack grumpily proclaimed. A character had been introduced with a very similar name to his own.

“Drack,” Liam said, “this is pre-first contact, we couldn't have known.”

“Mm. Hmph.” Drack settled back in the chair. “Still had it first,” the old man grumbled.

Jaal returned his attention to the vid, to see the protagonist discussing scars he'd received from... “Is he… _bragging?_ About how many lovers he has left behind?” Jaal's skepticism intensified. “I don't understand. Why would someone with such poor behavior be depicted as the hero of a story?”

“Humans looove the 'charming scoundrel' trope.” Vetra explained. “When they get a whiff of 'savvy outlaw doing shady things to get by, but they're a real good person inside' they go mad for it.”

“Hm.” Jaal considered the concept. “Vetra, that sounds like you, sometimes.”

“Don't have to tell me that twice,” Vetra said, with an amused mandible flap. “Though the trope is mostly about men. Humans like their 'bad boys.'”

The conversation was briefly interrupted by Drack's roar of approval as his new namesake headbutted a prison guard.

“That's a generalization, Vetra.” Ryder chided, when Drack's enthusiasm had quieted. “And it's not just humans, either. The tagline for Blasto was 'a lover in every port, and a gun in every tentacle' for a good fifty years before we ever came on the scene.”

“Hm,” Jaal considered that, and its implications. “To angara, the more steadfast a partner is, the more attractive he is.”

“That's how it works in real life, most of the time,” Ryder assured him. “But the charming rogue is sure popular with some people.”

“...are completely literal.” one of the characters explained about the scarred alien. “Metaphors are gonna go over his head.”

“Nothing goes over my head,” the scarred alien said. “My reflexes are too fast. I would catch it.”

“HA!” Jaal exclaimed, nearly jumping from his seat to point at the screen. “I got that one! I knew the idiom and he didn’t! YES!”

The hubbub of laughter and congratulations at Jaal's triumph caused them all to completely miss the prison escape sequence. Liam had to carefully walk the vid back through the three converter devices to watch the scene play out properly.

***

As the vid went on, Jaal found he was learning a lot by listening to the amusement of the crew, though they didn't always agree.

“Good. Haha, yes!” Jaal cheered, as the hero was rejected by the obvious romantic interest of the vid.

“Jaal, you of all people--You don’t want them to get together?” Liam asked, incredulous.

“No,” Jaal replied. “Peter is a loyal, steadfast friend but a flighty lover. _I_ wouldn’t court him, and _she_ shouldn’t either.”

“But if he _weren’t_ a flighty lover, you’d date him?” Vetra asked.

“Uh, erm. I mean… “ He ducked his head, feeling rather shy for a moment, then straightened up. “If the heart is right… why not court a human? An alien?”

Vetra nodded approvingly.

Gil and Liam exchange a meaningful glance. Jaal was sure he was missing something, but wasn’t sure what.

“Shhh, something’s happening!” Ryder hissed in the soft way humans used to hush others, turning their attention back to the film.

***

Jaal nodded thoughtfully whenever the plant alien made a point. He snuck a glance over at Liam: the human looked from Jaal to the vid and back, looking utterly baffled. _Success._

***

“What has the galaxy ever done for you?” the small, cynical one said. “Why would you want to save it?”

“Because I’m one of the idiots that lives in it!” the human hero replied. The Tempest crew burst into applause at that particular sentiment.

The moral of the strange old vid was about strength together, even among the diverse and the strange, to do what was best for all. _Humans made this before they knew anyone else was out there, among the stars. There is no lie here--the quality of the graphics and terrible costuming tells it true. There was no one to prove anything to but themselves._ It showed that humans, they were a flawed, messy people, but one that strove for the same things his did. It was...inspiring. And the approval of that message he saw on the faces of those around him, in their many shapes and forms, confirmed to him again that he had been right about these people.

***

A scene showcasing an improbable weapon controlled by whistle sparked an impromptu Tempest crew whistling contest.

It was determined that angara were passable at whistling, as were humans. Vetra utterly failed due to the construction of her mouth, but produced a synthesizer program on her omni-tool with several programmed whistles.

Drack abstained. Peebee won.

“Still pretty sure Kallo could wipe the floor with you, Peebs.” Liam asserted, dodging a tossed snack wrapper from the laughing, triumphant asari.

***

As the old vid went on, he reflected on how good it felt to be here, among this found family. _They are...remarkable, each and every one of them._ He felt lucky, and...undeserving, to be among them.

The film ended with a human soldier returning home on the world the heroes had helped save, to embrace a pink, intentionally alien partner and child. “Oh,” he said, with a laugh of surprised joy.

Masina noticed. “You liked it?” she asked, as the closing credits rolled.

“I liked most of it, yes. It was… hopeful. It… is good to know your people had stories about found families across species, even in ancient times.”

Jaal told them all a little bit about angaran pre-kett science fiction. How he used to dream that there was something more out there, someone to be friends with.

“I am glad to be here, with you. All of you.”

 


	12. Gifts

Masina walked into the tech lab, almost bouncing with eagerness to take a break and spend time with Jaal. Their conversations were becoming the highlight of her days.

He was bent over in the back of the lab, working on something.

 _I'm not sure if he heard me come in,_ she thought, _bad side’s facing the door and all that._

“Hey, Jaal—“

He dropped a tool with a clang, visibly startled.

“Sorry for scaring you,” she said.

“What?” He replied, rushing to put things away. “I’m not… scared, I… one second.”

“You look busy,” she observed. There were a larger than average number of projects and tools laid out in the lab, and that was saying something.

Jaal stood, settling himself a bit. “If I’m busy,” he explained, “my mind is occupied with whatever I’m working on rather than worrying.”

“It looks like you’re occupying yourself with a lot,” she noted, continuing to study the multitude of projects around the room in various states of completion.

“Hmm,” Jaal nodded his assent. “I’d like your advice on something,” he said. “I’m…making gifts, for everyone. I have a list.”

“Gifts?” she echoed curiously. “Is it for Garessen?”

“Sort of,” Jaal said. “You know of the holiday?” he asked, with some surprise.

“I can read a newsboard on Aya same as anyone else.” Masina explained. “More or less, anyway.”

“Mm. Hmph. ” Jaal examined the thought, and then set it aside. “Do turians like poetry? For Vetra, I’m writing a poem and engraving it on a… Ehm…I’m not sure yet.”

“Poetry? Uh… Vetra’s a hard one. What do you give the woman who can get anything?” Masina paced around, considering the question. “Poetry’s not what I would have thought of, but that doesn’t mean it’s wrong. Vetra doesn’t really need anything practical, she can get that herself.”

“I thought, something personal, not easily duplicated,” Jaal explained.

“It’s certainly not something she’d get for herself,” Masina agreed. “Be careful, though. Writing poetry about someone has implications of romantic interest. Unless…” She looked up to meet his gaze, inquisitive. “You’re _trying_ to flirt with Vetra?”

“Ehm, no.” He made a low chuffing sound, amused, or perhaps a little nervous. “Not Vetra. And the poem isn’t about her. It’s about homes, and understanding one’s feelings, and…being welcome.” He paused a moment, then continued, encouraged by Ryder’s smile. “She fears she made a mistake, bringing her sister here. I want to… help with that. Because she is my friend.”

Masina recalled some of the conversations she’d heard between the two of them. _Dos-ashan, good fear. Jaal the counselor. And still he wants to help more._

“I think that sounds wonderful, Jaal.”

“Good! Good. Mm. Perhaps I could recite it for her.”

“No!” she exclaimed. “With how private she is about her feelings, she’d hide in her room forever.”

“Hmph. She could use the break.”

“Psh,” she gave a little laugh. “What to put it on…”

_This conversation is a gift. It’s so nice to not be stressing about everything, worrying that—that’s why he’s doing this, he said. Wise man._

“I…still know very little about turian culture, beyond their military. A weapon or piece of armor does not seem…right. I would like it to be something she would have in her daily life. Something she would use in her home,” he explained. “To remind her that we will all have homes one day.”

Ryder brightened. “What about a… oh, what are they called? It’s a type of container, a little jar thing,” she gestured, approximating the object’s size, “they're used to hold the pigment for their facial markings. You know.” She mimicked the stripes across Vetra’s face. “The markings are about one’s family and where you come from, and they’ve got to be applied pretty regularly.” She brought up an image of a canister on her omnitool.

He studied the image. “I think, ah… yes. Yes! I can fashion something that will do nicely.”

“Great!” she said, closing the image projection. “Who’s next on the list?”

“Ah. Liam seems to like my rofjinn. I might sew him one.”

“You sew?” she asked, surprised.

“Uhm, yes?” He replied. He gestured to his armor. “I made this.”

“Which part?”

“All of it.”

“Wow.” Masina was impressed. She looked at his gear with new respect.

Jaal shifted his weight. “Is sewing an… _uncommon_ skill in the Initiative?”

“Kinda.” she said, continuing to study his garb. “I mean, lots of people can patch up their gear if they need to, but… to make your whole kit, and to have it be so… _pretty_. Uh, anyway, I thought the rofjinn was special somehow? You wouldn’t let Liam try yours on.”

“Ah. That is because it is mine.”

“Ah. Okay.” Masina nodded sagely. _No idea what that means still._

“Would Liam like a rofjinn?” she asked herself.

She pictured Liam, hands on hips, silken fabric flapping about. _Yeaaah, little ridiculous._

_Liam wants this alliance to work at least as much as I do. If Jaal makes him something, he’ll wear it forever, regardless of how it looks._

“Yeah, I think he would like that a lot.”

“Do krogan like knives?” Jaal asked. “I could—“

“Yes!” Masina cut him off confidently. “Any kind of weapon, yes, absolutely, the tougher the better.”

Jaal chuckled. “Mm, okay.” He noted something on his omni-tool analogue.

“Do you have an idea for Suvi?” Masina asked.

“A cup,” he stated. “With a lid.”

Masina fought back an snort of laughter, remembering the bulkhead coffee incident. “Right. Kallo?”

“Mm… I am debating,” Jaal replied. “Philosophy texts, or a journal. Kallo has many thoughts, but does not share them. Also, his stories relating to salarian drama serials are quite elaborate. It would be good to...help him share them.”

“A journal sounds good. They both sound good,” Ryder admitted. “I'll think it over some more. I think this will help us both keep from worrying so much about the kett.”

“I agree,” Jaal said,” But…that was not what has been worrying me today, why I started this task.”

She gave him an inquiring glance. “So what’s this all about then?” she asked. “Must be a big worry, to need a project this big to distract from it.”

“I’m sure that I seem…confident and skilled to you,” Jaal said, “but I’m not. Or I don’t feel like I am.”

“Well, I think you’re great,” she blurted.

He let out another little chuff, this one seemed nervous, shy—maybe even a little bashful? His voice was thick. “That’s so...”

“It’s true!” she insisted.

He cleared his throat, and told her: “You’re making me blush.”

“Really?” she asked. She studied his face, looking for some sort of blushing analogue. “I can’t tell. But maybe you need to hear it more often.”

He ducked his head, smiling. Definitely bashful.

“My family is well-known,” he explained. “Our lineage is respected, and many of my kin have achieved…great things,” He looked at her, sadness and disappointment clear on his face. “I’ve…never been one of them. So many older siblings and cousins who succeeded at everything—I stopped trying to… keep up.”

Ryder looks at him a moment, flabbergasted, trying to make his words fit with her picture of him. The idea that this brave, brilliant, compassionate man could think so little of himself... It was an injustice to the universe, and it made her _furious._

“What the hell sort of things have your cousins done—Jaal, have you looked at yourself? What you’ve accomplished here, what you’re still accomplishing here?” She stormed around the room, finding her words. She wheeled on him. “So, how many planets have your cousins saved?” she exclaimed. “How many Moshae?”

Jaal scoffed. “Those are your victories.”

“And I would have never been on Voeld if you hadn’t been there to vouch for me!” Masina exclaimed. “If you hadn’t risked your _life_ to see if a bunch of _aliens_ could be trustworthy. And, you know, we also _saved Havarl’s biosphere._ ” She took a breath, and continued, her volume only increasing. “This whole alliance would never exist without you. You didn’t know what was going to happen that day when you left Aya with us, but you did it anyway.”

“Ryder.” He looked confused. “You are… angry?”

“Yes!” she shouted. “I am! The idea that you could think so little of yourself is _infuriating_!”

Jaal didn't respond. Had she not been too busy ranting to see, she might have noticed him gazing at her, soaking up every word. But every time she so much as glanced at him, another wave of fury broke over her at the thought he could think so little of himself.

“And you never once have told us we are wrong for being different,” she continued. “No ‘your people are too flat and lack emotion, rah bah bah,’ it’s ‘angara are more open.’ You always consider what the world looks like from our point of view, and you’re brilliant at it. There are diplomats who train for decades to look at people the way you do intuitively.” She stopped pacing, her volume beginning to lower. “And you know what else? You’ve never used an idiom with us, despite how often you’re showered with them.”

“You noticed?” he asked softly.

“I’ve noticed a lot. I noticed how even when we were strangers, you showed such compassion for all of us. You’ve helped all of us grow, myself included.” She stepped closer, “I’ve seen what you’ve done, and I think it’s worth at least as much as whatever these great siblings of yours did. You’re not in anyone’s shadow here.”

“How can you possibly think so little of yourself?” she exclaimed, baffled. “Just the person you are, even without rescuing the Moshae and helping build this alliance, just who you are is something to be proud of.”

Then she saw him, really looked at him. He looked...stunned. His eyes were dilated wide, expression frozen, locked on her.

_Oh damn. What have I done? He's gone into shock or something._

“I just got really intense at you, didn’t I?” she said, softly now. “I’m sorry.”

“ _Why_ would you be sorry for _that_?” he asked, his tone sounding something like wonder, or even awe. “I…will think on what you have said.” He studied her again, drinking her in. “I… Thank you.” He paused, uncertain. “What would…you like? For your gift.”

“Hmm. I…this might be too much work, or a security risk, or something,” Ryder stumbled over the words, still not quite sure what she'd just done to him. “So, if you say no, that’s fine, you can always say no to stuff, but…”

He just kept looking at her, his expression patient and open.

“I’d like to learn Shelesh,” she said. “Would you teach me? The word of the day thing is great, but I’d like to know more. I should be able to make all the sounds, our throats are constructed similarly enough. And, no offense to SAM, but I don’t trust translation programs very much. The meaning doesn’t always come through right. Idioms, right?”

He smiled, and murmured a soft agreement.

“I know Shelesh has idioms,” she rambled. “I’ve heard others use them, and I know you don’t, to help us understand. Well, I’d like to…understand you better. I guess that would be my gift. I could teach you some of our languages as well.”

“It would be a joy to do so, Masina,” Jaal replied, his voice warm. “And I would be happy to learn more of your language as well. I would like us to...understand each other better.”

“Good! Thank you.” She smiled. “How do you say that, 'thank you,' in Shelesh?”

“Paavan do.”

“Paavan do, Jaal Ama Darav, I’m really glad to have you here.”

 


	13. On Humans

Jaal joined Drack in the galley, his gift for the ancient krogan in hand. It was early for Garessen, Jaal knew, but the gift would be of use now, and it didn’t really matter to aliens if it was early anyway.

“I purchased the blades from a salvager at Pelaav,” Jaal admitted, as Drack slowly unwrapped the package. “The handles I crafted and affixed myself.”

Drack considered his gift with an appraising yellow eye: a set of six fine angaran kitchen knives, each shaped for a different purpose.

“I noticed the tools you have here are...very small,” Jaal explained. “And, Ryder told me you like knives.”

Drack said nothing, but there was a warmth in his eyes as he deliberately put the small, human-sized knives deep in the back of the lower cabinets and arranged the new angaran set in their place.

“Your folks at Pelaav gave us some galorn shanks,” Drack said, setting out a few containers of spices. “Stick around and help me prep this roast, would ya? Got something I've been meaning to talk to you about.”

Jaal agreed. He'd become more familiar with Initiative foods by now, even if they did seem bland most of the time.

Drack pulled out the blue galorn shank and started preparing it, slicing around the shape of a fine roast, and cubing the spare meat. He nodded with satisfaction as the angaran knives cut clean and smooth.

“Here, put this back in cold storage,” Drack said, gesturing to the roast. “It'll need to rest a couple'a days more.”

Drack started mixing up a spice rub, throwing a bunch of curious things in a bowl together. He set Jaal to slicing dried ash berries into thin slivers. The silvery Ayan fruit was excellent at soaking up other flavors. Drack explained that the spiced cubes of meat would go in the roaster on a bed of dried ash berries, korkro root, and the bland earth crop called 'potato' which Cora had been growing in the biolab.

“Alright now, Jaal.” Drack said, as he finished arranging the korkro root and potatoes in the bottom of the roaster. “Listen up. You’ve been gettin’ real friendly with Ryder and the other humans, can’t help but notice, and there’s some things you oughta know.”

“See, humans, back where we’re from, they’re the new kids,” Drack explained. “Still figuring out how they fit in the larger, galactic society. Damn squishy too. Saw my first one, hell, maybe twenty years before we left… or was it thirty? Anyway, I look at this thing, it’s all soft and lumpy, looks like I could knock it over by breathing too hard. And I hear these things are the dominant species on their home planet. That’s gotta be one wimpy-ass planet, I say to myself. So I do a little research, just to see exactly how pathetic life on this place is. And it’s not half bad--couple of things would make a pretty fun fight. These hairy varren called bears, sometimes known as wolves, in the water you got sharks, good stuff. So, you’re asking yourself, how did such sad sacks of water as humans ever survive?”

Jaal was, in fact, not asking himself this at all. But he let the old man go on.

“And this is important,” Drack continued. “Helps you understand how they tick. Y’see, the primitive human was an endurance hunter. Group of humans would pick some big prey animal that could kill any a’them in a stand-up fight, and they throw some rocks at it, and it runs away, and they follow it, and make it run away some more. They do this for days even, moseying along, never letting this bastard really rest, until it keels over outta exhaustion. Then they eat it alive, or cook it or whatever. They couldn’t take out prey because they’re stronger, or faster, or pointier, so they hunted by being damn stubborn.”

Drack paused a moment to add the ash berries to the roaster, took a taste, and threw in a handful of… something. Of all the mysteries on the Tempest, Drack’s cooking might just be the greatest. The old man paused a moment to critically examine the cubed galorn meat, sizing down a few oddly-shaped pieces. He continued his lesson, gesturing with the knife in hand.

“The thing you gotta understand about humans: they aren’t doing things based on now. They sorta, get in their head the future they want, stab into that idea, and haul themselves to it,” Drack said, miming spearing a target with the carving blade and hauling it towards him. “And its hard stuff, keeping a human from what they want, what they really, truly want down in their guts. Goes for breaking down what they don’t want, and making what they do, both.”

He laid the knife down and began arranging chunks in the roaster, occasionally adjusting the placement of a piece of meat here, a vegetable there, drawing on culinary experience that had outlived civilizations.

“A lot of the humans came here ‘cause they wanted to build some sorta new life, new planet. When things got bad on the Nexus, a lot of humans left, ‘cause they weren’t getting’ to pursue that want. Exile, gettin’ shot at, worlds that are a bust? They’re human. They’ll keep on 'til they’ve got that future they were hunting or they die trying.”

“Goes for the good ones too. Ryder wants to get everyone a home and working together, well as knocking the kett back into whatever hole they crawled out of. And damned if that kid won’t bust her ass until she decides she’s gotten us there.”

Drack added the last of the seasoned meat and vegetables to the roaster, and turned to give Jaal a pointed look with one round yellow eye.

“So, when a human tells you about the future they want, that’s what you’re dealing with. Understand?”

“I… think so,” Jaal answered.

“Good. Now help me get this in the oven.”

 


	14. Moe i le po masina

Jaal was planning, in his head. He did that a lot, he knew. It had always been an oddity about him, setting him apart from his siblings and cousins. His _vaasavaan_ , Sahuna, had requested more information about his crewmates. Ostensibly, he was thinking about what to say about all of them, but he found that his thoughts kept slipping back to linger on one remarkable person.

She was refitting the Nomad, removing the snow gear from Voeld in favor of sandguards for Eos. He was tinkering on a recovered evac pod nearby. It was a way to keep his hands busy, and an excuse to be near her. She had her headphones on, blocking out her unnaturally acute hearing in favor of music. She was singing softly to herself, swaying to the music in her bulky headphones. She had her hair down, black silk framing her head like an angara’s mantle. The language of the song did not translate. Perhaps her family language? Her singing voice was … alien, yet undeniably beautiful.

_Moe i le po masina_

_Moe miti i ou foliga_

_I have never seen her refuse to help anyone in need, alien or angara. I believe she truly desires, in her soul, to make the cluster a better place, for all of us. Her compassion is boundless—I am…moved by her. Inspired._

He turned back to his work, still thinking of her face. He remembered how she had looked sitting with him in the night on the return to Aya. When he turned his mind from that, it settled on recalling the exact expression of unrestrained wonder she wore when they emerged from the vault on Voeld. And on their visit to the Nexus, how eager and open she has been to show him all the wonders of her people! He found that he longed to share the wonders of Heleus with her as well. _Her homeland is an island, perhaps she’d enjoy the sea cliffs of Adhviire, with their tumbling waterfalls? Or--she had dabbled in archaeology before she came here, perhaps a visit to the Forge in its fierce mountain perch, to wonder at the mysteries and the vistas? What would she think of the lands I grew up, or my family home?_

_Le taimi tonu lea_

_Ua tu fa'asipa ai le aniva_

Attraction to her had been building for a while. It seemed such an unlikely thing—but then, what in his life was not such, since he had joined this adventure? Everything was different now, as it should be—he was on a bizarre starship surrounded by aliens. It...encouraged him to look at many things differently. He had hoped for just a chance to do something that mattered. To prove he could. To prove he mattered.

Everything had gone so wildly better than expected.

He could understand why many would still doubt these aliens--it seemed too good to be real. But it absolutely was real. She was real.

_O'u nofo loa i luga_

_Fa'asolo o'u mafaufauga_

She was the very antithesis of the kett., with artistry in her very skin. Though her eyes were not dissimilar to an ascendant--a fact that had once chilled him--he knew they held every emotion the kett lacked. And such passion, that her own people did not appreciate, but he found endlessly attractive. She was so compelling, bright and bold and full of fire.

_Lo'u tino ua maniti_

_Loimata ua maligi_

Strange, yet charming. Alien, fascinating, good. He enjoyed her. He found spending time in her company a delight. Even physically--she was _odd_ , but he appreciated her smile, her grace--like a well-balanced firaan, her silhouette tall and straight, coming to a point at her feet. But more than that, she shone with the kindness of her spirit, and no amount of strange biology could hide it.

_Agi maia ia se matagi_

_Se'i momoli atu se tali_

He reflected on her reaction to his insecurity; she had attacked the idea with the same passion she attacked any injustice. It was entirely unlike anything he had expected. All her power, to annihilate kett, to resurrect planets, and she was spending some of that passion on him? To make him feel better about himself? It was… far too much, but her words had hung with him.

For a long time, he’d wished to do something great, to prove himself worthy of his family name. To prove he was worth pursuit for his own merits, after the heartbreak of being cast aside for a brother more famous.

And here was this alien, who did not turn away at his lack of achievement. Who saw who he was as an individual, and she admired him. Truly, and in detail. She _noticed_.

_Ia te ia ua ou ioe_

_Fia fa'atasi pea ma oe_

Even now her words chewed away at his doubt in himself. He was excited to see what emotions would be left in their place.

He was far more cautious with his heart than he ever was with his life, and he felt sure, down to the blood, that he could safely entrust both to her.

_I lo'u nei agaga_

_Fia maua pea se mafutaga_

His inclination, were she angara, would be to take the interest that was blatant in his field and openly declare it—or not, if he was unsure of pursuing a relationship in his life. But how would she respond? The alliance between their peoples was still so delicate. What sort of consequences would openness lead to? What sort of implications? For her people, and his. So many of the Initiative were so closed off. They seemed confused in, and perhaps afraid of, their emotions. Even Ryder backed away from her beautiful passion.

_Ana leai lo'u alofa_

_Semantu ou te le ola_

Somewhere between the lines of the song, he resolved to tell her. The memory of her words helped give him the little push to state his feelings boldly, to not fear being left alone and unworthy, as he had before. How could he dare do so, when she thought so highly of him? She had proven her honesty in every way thus far, and her commitment.

He considered and discarded the idea of asking for help from the crew. After all, the safest, best, most trusted friend he could ask was Ryder herself. But how even to broach the topic?

He headed for his quarters. It would take time to find a way to say what an angara would feel radiating from him. She looked up from her work at his passing, and gave him a fond wave in farewell.

‘ _The soul, like trust, is universal.’_ _If it is too forward, she will tell me. Regardless, she is kind._

He would find the words.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moe i le po masina is an old Samoan love song, part of a playlist of music Masina brought from her homeland. I am far from fluent myself, but here is an approximate translation I've cobbled together from a few sources:   
> Moe i le po masina—as I slept beneath the light of the moon  
> Moe miti i ou foliga—dreaming of your face  
> Le taimi tonu lea—at that moment  
> Ua tu fa'asipa ai le aniva—the stars were cast into disarray  
> O'u nofo loa i luga—I awoke and arose  
> Fa'asolo o'u mafaufauga—my mind disquieted  
> Lo'u tino ua maniti—a cold sweat overcame me  
> Loimata ua maligi—as my teardrops fell  
> Agi maia ia se matagi—oh, that a wind would arise  
> Se'i momoli atu se tali—to bear away my reply  
> Ia te ia ua ou ioe—to you, that I am of the same accord  
> Fia fa'atasi pea ma oe—that my longing to be with you remains  
> I lo'u nei agaga—and my very soul  
> Fia maua pea se mafutaga—yearns to be united  
> Ana leai lou alofa—knowing that without your precious love   
> Semanu ou te le ola—I would surely cease to live
> 
> Lole Usoalii does a beautiful rendition of the song, which served as a reference for what Masina's singing voice might be like. It's on YouTube, if you'd like to check it out.


	15. The Letter

The Pathfinder’s desk was scattered with tools and bits of scrap. She was trying to build another ship model for her growing collection: an angaran shuttle this time. She liked the smooth, organic lines of their vessels, but they were a trick to recreate with scraps of salvage. She looked at the half-assembled ship skeptically. The port thruster wiggled too much, and the pilot’s dome kept deflating. “Come on, little guy,” she said, gently reshaping the dome. “You can do better than this.”

Her terminal pinged--unread messages.

“If that’s Addison again, she can wait for her damn reports. Lexi says self-care is _important_ ,” she grumbled, rolling her chair over to the console.

“ _You have unread messages at your—"_

 _SAM_. She was convinced the AI was teasing her with his relentless notifications. _What I get for not laughing at his knock-knock jokes. Lord save me from AI humor._

The new message was, rather adorably, titled 'A communication from your friend Jaal.' The big guy had struggled for a while with what to do with the subject line. Internal angaran communications probably didn't have them, she reasoned. From everything she'd seen, they preferred to just get straight to the point.

She'd have to give SAM a pass this time; anything from Jaal was bound to be worth her time. She was grateful the AI had alerted her immediately--even if he was a little shit about it.

Masina opened the message, and read only the first word. It was enough to make her brain short out for a moment. She stared at it, trying to confirm the letters really formed the word she thought it did.

 _Dearest,_ it read.

 _Could it be a translation error?_ the rational part of her mind suggested, trying to quash any foolish excitement she felt rising within her. _Yeah, translation error. Has to be._

She took a deep breath and read on, growing increasingly spellbound by his words.

_In your culture, is 'dearest' too strong a word to use when two people are fond of each other? And is 'fond' too strong a word to use when two people enjoy flirting with each other?_

_I enjoy you. Even now, I smile picturing your face._

_Angara are free with our emotions, and it feels normal for me to lay mine at your feet. I hope this is not to strange for your species and that you can comfortably accept them._

_I enjoy you—but more than that, I adore your strength and courage and beauty._

_Your dearest,_

_Jaal_

The functional parts of her brain were a war between giddy excitement and stunned shock.

_Oh hell._

_I never meant to flirt with him. How did I flirt with him?_

_Oh hell._

“SAM... can you run this through the translator again? I...”

“ _Dearest. 'Hyrataan onyae.' Literally: 'most precious person of mine' The suffix -taan can also mean a location, but given contextual data, I feel confident it is intended as a personal address. Shall I continue verification?”_

She stood up, considered pacing, but was so drawn to read the words again she ended up just rereading it standing over her own desk chair. SAM unrolled line-by-line translation notes for her, and with additional clarity the words became only more heartmelting.

_Wow. He is... wow. I wonder if this is normal._

_It really looks like it means what it think it means._

“And... 'flirting?'” she asked.

“ _Asaanva. 'to banter with romantic interest.'“_ SAM clarfied. “ _Ryder, I believe Jaal is expressing his interest in a romantic relationship with you, and querying if you are interested in such a relationship as well.”_

_I just meant to be nice to him. I wanted to make a connection. Good job Ryder! You made a connection. And he’s…_

_He’s so… good. He doesn’t feel anything halfway, does he?_

_I wonder if he’ll write more like this._

_Damn. I want him to write more like this._

_This is a terrible idea, Ryder._ she thought. _He's the angaran envoy! It's unprofessional!_

… _Since when do I care about being unprofessional? What the hell, self?_

“ _Ryder,”_ SAM broke in, interrupting her internal argument. _“I have reviewed and analyzed all Initiative regulatory procedures. Jaal is a foreign entity for which no fraternization regulations currently exist. In any cases where no regulations or procedures have been determined, the Pathfinder has authorization to set precedent at their discretion. You are clear to proceed, if desired.”_

“That's....certainly an interesting way to read Initiative regulations.” She gave the AI's projection a sidelong glance. “...You’re awfully supportive of this.”

“ _Romantic relationships are an important part of life for most organic sentients, including yourself. Jaal seems to have potential as an exemplary partner, based on my knowledge of romantic depictions in media.”_

“Romantic depictions in…What? SAM, why?”

“ _I reviewed and analyzed a great deal of creative works to occupy my processors while Alek was in cryosleep.”_

“SAM, you're telling me you watched rom-coms. For six. Hundred. Years.”

“ _And other media, yes.”_ SAM said.

 _That's it,_ she thought with an exasperated laugh, sitting back into her chair with a sigh. _This is too much. Today's the day my brain explodes._

SAM declined to comment on that. Instead, the AI continued: _“My purpose is to act in the Pathfinder’s best interest. I believe taking advantage of this opportunity to build a romantic relationship would be beneficial for you.”_

She considered it, as she stared up at the ceiling. To have a relationship with Jaal would be a challenge. There would be so many differences to navigate. But he was _worth_ the challenge. He was her dearest friend here, probably in the whole galaxy. The way his eyes lit up with learning, the way he cared about everyone here, the way he looked and spoke and felt. She remained adamant that he was way out of her league, but… if he wanted this too…

_But what if it isn’t what I think? What if it’s just a cultural misunderstanding?_

_He called you dearest and said he enjoys you. He enjoys flirting with you. That seems pretty clear._

_What if he misread something, and felt obligated to do this? There's a million cultural nuances here. Who knows what I might have signaled to him by accident?_

_What if I hurt him because of something I don't even understand?_

_Oh hell._

_I need to talk with him._

“SAM,” she said as she stood to leave, “Go quiet for me, okay? I’m gonna need to muddle through this one myself.”

“ _Affirmative. Good luck, Masina.”_

****

“We need to talk. I read your letter.”

Jaal's face went on an emotional journey at her words.

 _He’s so unsure,_ she thought. _I don’t want to hurt him!_

“I…wasn’t flirting with you,” she admitted. “Not intentionally, anyway.”

“Oh.”

His expression was wide open, confused, wilting in on itself with disappointment. She glanced down to her shoes, unable to keep looking at him.

_SAM help! I messed up! What do I do?!_

“ _Just keep muddling, Pathfinder.”_

Jaal let out a long, hissing sigh. “Of course I will stop, if you want me to.”

“NO!” she shouted, before she could stop herself. “Ack—I mean, do whatever you want. But don’t feel like you have to. I don’t mean to pressure you into anything.”

Jaal's disappointed expression was replaced with one of confusion. “But…I have made you uncomfortable.”

“No, I'm flattered, really. I just… I don’t know how I’ve come off as flirting,” Masina said, gesturing in bewilderment.

Jaal considered that. “Ehm. Mm. We…spend time together, share our interests with each other, and our joys. Is this so different from how your people show interest in each other?”

“No, that’s—we’re pretty much the same there.”

“Uhm…Then…” Jaal gave a quiet, nervous laugh. “I don’t understand.”

“Sometimes implications between species and cultures are…different,” Masina explained. “And can…cause miscommunications, make people feel… Uh. Heh. So example: salarians show interest with eyelid movements. Very… _explicit_ interest.”

He looked at her, questioning, with that open gaze of his, waiting for understanding.

“And I got caught in a dust storm at a security posting one time, and my eyes were twitching and irritated, and some of the salarians thought I was trying to seduce them.”

He stared at her a moment, incredulous. “Oh… _Oh!_ PHWAHAHAH. Ahhh... No. Nothing like that.”

“Good! Good.” She smiled at him, relieved.

“So,” he said. “When you said you thought me ‘great,’ that was… not intended as flirting?”

“Ah, no,” she said, bashfully turning her gaze to the floor. She nudged aside a scrap of detritus with the tip of her shoe. “Though I guess I could see how you’d take it that way.” She whipped her head up to look him in the eye. “But it’s TRUE though!” she exclaimed. “You _are_ great! And brave, and compassionate, so _hopeful_ —“

“Masina…”

“Even when it’s hard. And so damn smart—“

“Dearest…”

“--the projects you’ve put together in this room alone! And… Oh…” Her rant stumbled to a halt as she took a moment to really _look_ at him.

His eyes were dilated again, wide black pools completely focused on her. He looked enraptured, she realized, his expression one of open, blatant admiration.

 _You idiot,_ she thought, _he adores you._

_Oh, I **want** this._

“Jaal,” she blurted, not daring to give herself time to think better of it, “I think you’re interesting and…well, great. I’d like to keep getting to know you better. I…worry I might not be able to always tell what’s angaran and what’s specifically you. But, I want to get better at that, if you do. More…intentionally. What do you think?”

_Wow that’s a lot of words to string together without tripping over myself. Hopefully the pretty wordsmaster here will one-up me._

“Yes. I’d like that,” he said, in a tone that sounded no different than if he were accepting a cup of water.

“That’s it?” she said before she could catch herself. She looked away, embarrassed. _Here I was hoping for more poetry._

When she finally met and held his gaze, he leaned forward a bit, showing her she had all his attention, and spoke. “You are a lovely woman, fascinating, a brilliant risk-taker. Knowing you better would be a gift. Sincerely.”

“Now you’ve got me blushing.”

“Ah.” He smugly studied her. “Good to know.”

It was her turn to make a series of bashful incoherent noises, her stomach doing some non-regulation maneuvers at the intensity of his gaze. She looked away, unable to handle his unabashed interest--and saw the perfect part for the model she had been working on.

“Hey—do you need this?” she asked.

He shook his head, curious. He handled the topic whiplash better than most-- _he should_ , she reasoned, _for how often he does it._

“I have a project I’m working on,” she explained, “and I think this is just what I need.” She gestured with a nod towards the door, smiling. “You want to see? I’d like you to see.”

****

He followed her back to her cavernous quarters, a room that seemed far too large for just one person. She showed him the shuttle model in progress, and inserted the bit of scrap from the tech lab to brace the pilot’s dome.

“You… made all these?” Jaal asked, charmed, as he studied the half-dozen models scattered across her desk.

“Yeah,” she replied. “You inspired me. Busy hands keep the worry away and all that, right? You like them?”

“They are intriguing,” he said, fascinated. “What is this one?”

“That’s the Destiny Ascension,” she explained. “Asari design. Biggest ship in the Citadel fleet.” She saw him glance between it and the angaran shuttle. “These models aren't to scale. It's about half the size of the Nexus, actually.”

“Amazing. How many crew does it take to staff such a thing?”

“About a city's worth,” she replied. She picked up another model. “This is the Citadel,” she said, placing the delicate model in his hands. “this is where I spent about half my childhood growing up. It's the center of civilization in the Milky Way. The Nexus was modeled to be like it, but better. I’ve been trying to get a model of the Nexus pieced together, but the arms keep folding in on each other.”

He gently handed back the Citadel and picked up the Nexus. He examined it, especially the area where the offending arm meets the central wing. “I think I have something to reinforce this. I’ll go get it, and my tools—if you’d like.”

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

Behind them, unnoticed, SAM’s projected avatar glowed gold, coiling in a way that appeared positively smug.

 

 


	16. The Envoy on Eos

Eos, the planet of dawn. Dusty, barren; optimistic.

The world took it's name from an ancient human goddess who dwelt at the edge of the world, heralding the end of night and celebrating the coming of a new day.

There was much about this world to learn, things beyond what Evfra's spy satellites could tell them. Here, Jaal was as much the assessed as the assessor, a representative of his people to the curious colonists trying to make this world a home.

The three of them stood under blue sky, atop a wind-sculpted peak of stone in all the colors of smoldering flame. Jaal was hunkered down, leaning against the sunset-colored stone outcrop, resisting the urge to find better cover. Everywhere on this barren planet felt exposed--yet Ryder and Cora moved so boldly out in the open.

They were waiting for the comm array to finish its self-assembly procedure. After so much time on Eos, there was probably sand in the mechanism. Left unattended, it would probably destroy itself trying to complete assembly. A boring job, but the view _was_ breathtaking, and the company…

Ryder was surprised by a small, skittering creature about the size of Jaal's hand. It looked a bit like a miniature challyrion. Jaal watched as the two regarded each other. The creature was tense, its spines erect.

“Hey there little guy,” she whispered. “Hey. Easy. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

The creature’s spines slowly lowered, its eyes opening wide. She chuckled. “There, see? Aren’t you a good little whatever.” The creature skittered up to sun itself at her side. “Oh, you want to sit by me? Hey there.”

It flicked out a small black tongue, tasting the air around her. She smiled wide, and flicked her own pink tongue out in imitation. Pleb. Pleb. Pleb-pleb.

“Please don’t take that thing home with us,” Cora said, her voice stern.

At the sound of her voice, the creature fled into a crack in the rocks.

Ryder sighed. “Aw, Cora, you scared him!” she said, shooting a reproachful glance. “I’m not gonna keep him, he lives here. This is his home. Little guy just wants to check out what we’re doing to the real estate.”

“It is called a frum-frou,” Jaal explained. “The spines are too soft to hurt anything, but they make an impressive show nonetheless.” He moved a little closer to Ryder. “There are many on Havarl, though I've never seen one that was green and gold before.”

“I wonder if Eos once held an angaran population.” Ryder mused. “Would explain why we see variants on the same species on so many worlds.”

“It seems possible,” he agreed. “We've lost so many worlds to the scourge. It's...strange, to see one more or less reclaimed.”

The frum-frou crept out of its hiding spot to bask by Ryder, accompanied by two more. She whispered gentle greetings to the creatures. Jaal found the sight incredibly endearing.

 _For all her skill at warfare, this is who she really is_.

As they picked their way down the rocky hillside, after the comm array had completed its startup sequence, Jaal found himself thinking again about Drack’s words on humans.

“Ryder,” he asked, “what do you want for your life, here in Heleus?”

Cora sputtered. “That’s quite a question to just up and ask someone, Jaal,” the lieutenant explained. “Especially out here.”

“Is it inappropriate, then?” he asked, concerned.

“No, it’s fine,” Ryder assured him. She paused, shuffling a pebble around with her boot. “It’s just… big. It’ll take me awhile to figure out how to put it into words. I’ll get back to you.”

Jaal followed her into the Nomad, a vehicle that reminded him constantly that it was made for smaller folk than himself.

“Scoot over Jaal,” Cora said, squeezing into the cab beside him. “You're taking up my seat. Too hot in here for that.”

As he made some pretense of taking up less space, Jaal double-checked his translator. He glanced between Cora and Ryder, unsure. Liam had made clear that this word for extreme temperature could also be used to refer to a sort of sexual attraction based solely on appearance and presentation, even to a stranger. He understood the concept intellectually, but was still unsure of how such an idea was applied.

“Do you mean hot or... _hot_?” he asked, sincerely uncertain.

Cora laughed, pushing him aside. “Just shove over.”

_Ah, then it was not intended as flirtation. Good to know._

_Dearest looks uncomfortable. My question may have been inappropriate. I've worried her._

_And I thought friendship was hard work._

She glanced back at him. He held her gaze for a moment, and she turned away, seeming contented by what she read in his expression.

 _The mind wants what the mind wants._ It was a common enough angaran saying. Not a proverb, formally. Just true. Some angara were like Liam and his words described, their attentions drawn easily; for others, like himself, it took someone very special to draw one's interest. And once desire did appear, it was with a strength and endurance that the efforts of distraction or logic could not turn away.

Ryder drove them across the barren landscape, cutting across the orange sand with a speed and boldness that set his nerves on edge. He found himself automatically scanning every approach for possible threats. Eos was harsh and dry, but survivable. This was the place the Initiative was trying to make their home—and dying for, at times. He had seen the ruined shells of previous settlement attempts, half-buried in the sand.

Since Ryder activated the vault, the kett presence on this part of the planet had been blessedly limited...so far.

“Aya is watching what takes place on Eos very closely,” he told them. “You are welcome to this planet, few of my people would want to live here, even without the kett.”

 _The settlers know the threat, this time,_ he thought as they approached the colony. _Hopefully they'll survive. That's all any of us can do._

***

The crew of the Tempest was gathered with some of the colonists in one of the downtime areas of Prodromos, a sort of dining hall. Jaal was mostly keeping quiet, save to ask a few questions. His role here was to observe, after all, and report what he saw to his people.

“What about you, Ryder?” One of the colonists asked. “What was your training, back in the Milky Way? The way you handle yourself under fire, you must have had some real combat experience.”

“Studied biotics at Grissom academy, Alliance basic, security mentorship at a Prothean site led to some live fire,” Ryder answered, “and I spent a few extended leaves on ‘Scyllian vacations.’”

“You _didn’t,_ ” Cora gushed.

Liam also perked up at the phrase. “Wait, that’s really a thing?”

“Perhaps you could explain what this ‘Skeeelian leave’ is?” Jaal asked.

“Illegal as hell,” Liam answered for her. He sounded impressed, approving. “How much were you charged with?”

“It wasn’t just me…” Ryder said, waving him off, but Liam continued to press her.

“Okay, okay. Fine. I would be officially charged with grand larceny, having participated on three separate occasions in actions leading to the theft of,” she paused, mouthing numbers as she calculated, “248 units of cargo purchased by the Batarian Hegemony from private contractors.”

Liam let out a whoop. “Ryder, that’s amazing!”

“You were a criminal?” Jaal asked, confused. “And you feel this is a… good thing?” The words all translated properly, but this was _Ryder_ they were talking about.

“According to the Batarian Hegemony, yes, Ryder’s a criminal,” another colonist, the engineer named Fawkes, explained. He turned, looking at Ryder with approval. “But, by the laws of the Systems Alliance, _people_ can’t be considered property. So, she didn’t steal a thing.”

“She helped free slaves from the batarians, man,” Liam added. “Hero shit.”

Ryder shifted, clearly not entirely comfortable with all the praise. “Hey, guys! Listen. There were a lot of people on those raids who’d done it a lot more than me. Enele and I, we just went where the vets told us and put on our little lightshow.”

“Ha, so you helped with a worthy cause!” Jaal said, relieved, and proud of his dear one. “But, why keep such actions a secret?”

“The batarians convinced to the Citadel Council that slavery is an integral part of their culture, and must be allowed to continue,” Cora said, with somewhat cloaked disgust.

“And, of course, those idiots on the Council granted that request.,” Peebee added. Her disgust was completely obvious.

“Council doesn’t really care what happens outside Citadel space,” Liam told him, in a tone that matched the asari's.

“The batarians aren’t allowed to take direct military action against our colonies,” Ryder explained to him, “so they arm and supply supposedly ‘independent’ pirates to take people. And the Alliance isn’t allowed to retaliate with official military action, so sometimes soldiers take leave to go on a vacation to the Scyllian Verge, to strike back at the slavers as private citizens. My brother and I went on three together, once right out of the Academy, the other two just before shipping out to Andromeda. We were probably a little reckless,” she acknowledged to the group, “doing two in the same year, but you know how the bureaucracy is. Even if they did ID us, what are they going to do, send security to haul us back from Andromeda for ‘abolitionist piracy?’”

“You would have been charged as a criminal for freeing your own people?” Jaal asked, shocked. “That’s... _abhorrent_. How dare they? And these governments, the turians, the asari, they allowed this to stand? Why?”

“Political bullshit is what it is,” Liam declared. “The old, established species leadership doesn’t want to bother looking out for anyone besides themselves. Might damage their fucking status.”

“Oh, they’ll probably have killed each other off by the time I’m a matriarch,” Peebee mocked, throwing an arm over her face dramatically. “I’ll just let it take care of itself while I contemplate the strictures for a century.”

“It’s part of why we all came out here,” Fawkes told him. “A chance to start fresh, to build something better than before.”

“How could you leave, with such injustice left unrighted?” Jaal asked.

Cora explained. “Just a couple years before we left, humanity was granted a seat on the Council, which gave us the power to start changing the laws. A few years after we left, Scyllian vacations probably became a thing of the past.” She looked approvingly at Ryder. “A lot of people would have just left it to the politicians.”

Ryder shrugged. “It was the right thing to do.”

A different colonist approached them, and introduced himself as Jun-Seo Park, a teacher of children for the colony. “Parents are questioning the point of us teaching about the history of a place six hundred years gone,” he explained. “I thought I'd like to get the Pathfinder's opinion on the curriculum.”

“You do know I have background in archaeology, right?” Ryder asked with a grin, winning a small laugh from the teacher. “I think it's important to know where we came from,” she answered, “the good and the bad. How else can we avoid making the same mistakes?”

“Thank you,” Park said. He glanced from Ryder to Jaal. “Also, if it’s alright…my class would love to meet the Pathfinder, and, ah, one of our new neighbors.”

“Of course.”

***

The first human child Jaal met ran right up to him across the orange sand, his eyes wide. “You’re really big,” the child exclaimed.

Jaal chuckled. “Yes. I am.”

“Danny, be nice!” the teacher fussed, catching up to the boy. “I apologize, sir. If any of my students are rude or bothersome, just say so and we'll head back to the classroom.”

“No, no.” Jaal replied. “I appreciate his openness. It is one of our most important values.”

A little girl with hair like Liam's followed the boy, perhaps encouraged by his boldness. She looked up at the angara with big serious eyes. “Are you one of the good aliens?” she asked.

“I try to be. Perhaps we can talk, and you can decide for yourself what I am.”

He sat down on a nearby outcrop and asked the children about their studies. The wonderstruck little boy told him about photosynthesis and sustainable agriculture with more enthusiasm than knowledge. As the boy's words stumbled, a few other, shyer classmates joined him, daring to speak with the angaran envoy.

When the others dispersed, the first child stayed around.

“Hey,” the boy said with a grin. “Guess what?”

“Uhm. I…don’t know,” Jaal replied.

“I do,” the child said confidently. “Listen: my mom is gonna have a baby! I’m gonna be a big brother!” The kid leapt from his seat next to the angara, jumping up and down in excitement. “I’m gonna have a little brother! Or maybe a sister,” he added, coming to a stop.”We don’t know yet.”

Jaal's face broke into a huge smile. “Ha! Congratulations!”

“I’m _really_ excited!” the boy said, beaming. “But it’s gonna be a big job,” he added, “I’m gonna be the best big brother, and help them learn to play and run and do everything. But not diapers—that’s mom’s job.” The boy nodded to himself seriously. “Do you have any little brothers or sisters?” he asked.

“I have five younger brothers and sisters,” Jaal explained, choosing to follow human conventions and only count those from the same blood parents.

Even that small number was enough to leave the little boy in awe. “Wow,” he gasped. “How do you look out for them all”

“I also have many older siblings,” Jaal explained. “We all look out for each other. My people have big families.

“You must have to share a lot,” the boy observed. “Hey, can I sit by you?” Jaal nodded in assent and the boy scrambled up to sit next to him on the rocks. “Your hands are bigger than my head!” the boy exclaimed, putting Jaal’s gloved hand on top of his head for a moment, beaming as his head and part of his face was engulfed beneath angaran palm, heedless of the electricity it could bring forth.

 _So trusting, and open,_ Jaal thought. He gently removed his hand, amazed at the child's bold efforts towards friendship. He was even more like an angara than the adults; no traumas had taught him to guard himself away. Jaal hoped that the boy would be safe here, now that the kett had been pushed back.

“...And I've never been anywhere with so many rocks before!” the boy continued excitedly. “Back on Earth it was just houses everywhere. Hey, what sort of planet are you from?”

He pulled up a few images of Havarl, but they left the child confused. Human eyes were not able to see the right colors for the display. Ryder saw their struggles and joined them, propping the child up on her hip to show him images of Pelaav on her omni-tool.

In time, the boy and his classmates were called back to his lessons, the child rocketing off towards his next adventure. “Danny,” the teacher chided, “did you remember to thank him?”

“Oh.” The boy turned and bolted back to Jaal, embracing the angara's leg in a tight hug. “Thank you mister angara! You’re a great neighbor.”

 _They could be us,_ Jaal thought, as he watched the human child leave.

***

Jaal and Ryder stood on the Prodromos overlook in the day's waning light. They had finished checking a sensor on the valley rim together, and stopped to enjoy the view.

“What do you want?” he asked her again.

She thought about it, looking out over the colony below. “I want…Well, I want Heleus to be free of the kett. I don’t want one more family to part not knowing if they’ll ever see each other again. And once we are free of them, and the Archon is out of Heleus for good—because that will happen. We’ll make it happen.”

“After that,” she continued. “I want to help build something better than what we left behind. I want Heleus to be...” She paused a moment, trying to gather her words into the right shape. He waited, giving her whatever time she needed. “You were talking to Vetra once, about family being a wall, with many stones standing together. Strong. Unbreakable. I want Heleus to be like that, but with the stones being our peoples, all the different species, everyone that’s helped this place and good places like it survive, looking out for each other. No more kicking other species down to keep status. No more us and them. Just…us. All of us, together. That’s what we dreamed about, or at least I did. Golden worlds where people worked together, and we were all the better for it.”

“I still do dream about that,” she told him. “Every damn day, really.”

“That is…very admirable,” he said. “Inspiring. But, what do _you_ want?”

“I… just told you?” she said, confused. “Is your translator having trouble—was I talking at your bad side?”

“No, I heard you.” he reassured her. “Your dreams are beautiful, and I believe, more than I ever have, that they are possible. But… What do you want, Masina? You, personally?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because you are dear to me, and I want to know you better. And because I suspect that you, like me, are not really a fighter. Who would you be, if you did not have to fight? What life would you choose to live, if circumstances did not demand you live this one?”

His dear one fidgeted, perhaps anxious of their flirtatious relationship. He trusted her to know that it was a sincere question. It occurred to him that perhaps this was not how humans flirted--but, how else would they get to know each other?

“I… I’m not sure,” she said. “Settle down somewhere, I guess. Get to enjoy life on one of those golden worlds that we helped save. Or just keep exploring. Keep trying to figure the universe out, you know?”

“I understand.” He paused, considering her. “You spend so much time thinking of what would benefit all, you do not consider what you might want for yourself. You have a graceful heart.”

“That’s one way to look at it, I guess,” she said. “A nice way.” They exchanged soft smiles. It felt good, just to be around each other. It felt, he realized with a start, quite a bit like home should feel.

He took her hand.

He took it gently, loosely, barely brushing with his fingertips at first. This was an offer, not a demand.

She glanced at him, then shyly looked away. Her fingers gripped his in return, and gave an affectionate squeeze.

The stood that way for a while, as the day's light faded behind the canyon walls.

“We should probably get back to work,” Masina finally said. “Vetra’s got another movie night vid ready to go: Fleet and Flotilla. It’s one of my favorites! I think you’ll like it too.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” she said, giving his hand one more squeeze as they turned towards the path to the canyon floor. “Definitely a feelings story. And it’s got quarians.”

“I would enjoy learning more about that people,” he replied, following after her.

“And the songs are great.”

“Songs?”

“It’s a musical.”

“Heh.” he said, delighted. “Intriguing.”

 

 


	17. The Place of Proud Stones

The Tempest sailed over the rugged landscape, over soaring sickly yellow mountains and hot electric blue sulfur springs belching white clouds of steam. They were completing their final approach on Kadara Port, the planet's brightest beacon of civilization—mostly because it was the _only_ beacon of civilization. What was once an angaran colony, then a kett outpost, was now the happy home for a few hundred Nexus exiles who were just going to be _so_ pleased the Pathfinder was paying them a visit.

She could see why the Initiative had left this place off the recruitment posters. It was a sad, ugly-looking planet, with mustard-colored plains and sickly green oceans, painted with all the colors of a toxic waste dump.

 _Kah Daara_ , it was called in Shelesh; the place of proud stones.

Things had been going so well, the night they left Eos, watching Fleet and Flotilla with the crew. Vetra and Masina were already fans, and over the course of the vid Jaal certainly became one. Sharing something she enjoyed--and stealing fleeting touches, sitting close together on her couch. Feeling Jaal happily humming along with the main theme, his deep voice shaking through the couch beneath them.

The call had come in just as the credits were rolling: Evfra, with urgent news. He and his agents had located a possible lead on the Archon's flagship: a Resistance captain-turned-traitor named Vehn Terev The man had cut a deal with the kett to give them the Moshae and disappeared, and had only just resurfaced on Kadara.

Learning that it was one of their own who orchestrated the Moshae's capture had certainly killed Jaal's mood for the evening.

Evfra had provided them with two more pieces of information: a nav route to safely reach Kadara through the scourge, and the name the Resistance contact planetside would identify themselves by: Shena. The codename translated to the angaran word for 'mouth.' Given how loud most angara were, Masina was interested to see what it took for them to name one of their own such. Whoever this Shena was, Masina wanted Jaal at her side to get a read on them. She valued his eye.

Vetra had used her incredible negotiation skills to secure the Tempest a berth on Kadara Port with a minimum amount of fuss. Masina chose not to question how exactly Vetra had managed this feat, or why she was packing up a coffin-sized cargo crate of Blast-o's instead of doing gear checks with the rest of the ground team.

 _It feels odd to go out unarmored,_ she thought, fastening the leather vest Vetra had fabricated for her as mildly protective casualware, _But we'll attract enough attention as is; best not look_ _too_ _much like an attempted military takeover after all the exiles have experienced at the hands of Nexus security._ Drack would round out the ground team, along with Vetra, Jaal and herself.

Jaal was explaining the history of the planet to her as they prepared. “Kadara was once a twin paradise with Voeld, according to our oral histories. When the scourge disaster occurred, the planet became acidified, the water toxic without proper precautions. Much of the population died before filtration methods could be developed and distributed. It is our least populated world,” he told her, “Even Aya is greater.”

“Looking good, Ryder,” Vetra said, joining them. “Jaal, could we get you to try and wear something a little more...muted?”

 _I suppose his rofjinn_ _**does** _ _have his family title embroidered on the back in lettering a hand high._

“No, I will not,” Jaal grumbled. “I will be seen as myself, and nothing less. If people take issue with who I am, then I and they will deal with it.”

“Sounds like you're expecting a fight, kid,” Drack observed. “Or looking for one.”

“Kadara has been an outlier in Heleus long before your exiles arrived here,” Jaal explained. “Kadara's families and militias refused to join with Evfra during the formation of the Resistance, or the agreements of Vesaal that were extended to them generations earlier. They go their own way.”

“I have never been to Kadara myself,” Jaal continued, “nor do I have any personal contacts here, but... there is... a reputation of duplicity here, that the people of Kadara are far more willing than the rest of us to condone unscrupulous behavior. I have heard rumors that the angara here willingly surrendered the spaceport to the kett as part of a bargain. Then, they were offended when the Resistance was unable to spare the fighters and supplies to take it back for them. Evfra and the Resistance are not looked on fondly here.”

“And given that it's Sloane's people on the comms out of the spaceport, and not the angara that built it,” Masina observed, “I'm guessing that relations between her and the native angara have been less than optimal.”

Vetra helped her adjust the scarf covering her amp access. “Couldn't have the Pathfinder's job get too easy, could we?”

Masina made a disgruntled noise. “Any insights on the current situation at the port?” she asked Vetra.

“Something's got Sloane on the defensive,” Vetra replied, “Something way beyond the Tempest showing up and requesting a berth. Give me thirty minutes planetside and I'll be able to tell you the whole story.”

***

“Head on a pike,” Masina mused, taking in the severed Chosen skull. “That's one hell of a welcome sign.”

“Exiles have stepped up their game since the revolt.” Vetra noted, as they moved through the docks. Several more Chosen and Destined heads lined their path at regular intervals.

 _Decorating home with the severed heads of your enemies isn't really standard frightened technician behavior, I guess._ Masina thought. _These people didn't deserve to be cast out to die. I can't imagine what they've suffered—or what it's done to them._

She could see the signs of curving angaran architecture, how the levels and platforms of the city wrapped around the mountaintop like the canopies of the elegant fungal trees below. Lumpy chunks of kett tech were bolted on haphazardly--a platform for a gun emplacement here, a row of generators there, barricades and buildings thrown up with no regard for flow. And over everything was a thick crust of initiative tech--and a surprising amount of neon.

“Not too shabby for folk who got kicked off the station with nothing to show for it.” Drack observed.

A message from Evfra was patched in. “Ryder, the situation has changed. Proceed to the bar called 'Kralla's Song to meet with my agent.”

“How'd he know the minute we landed?” she wondered aloud.

“Evfra knows everything.” Jaal replied with a small smile.

Vetra and Drack slipped away to complete whatever shady deal had won them a safe berth for the Tempest. Masina and Jaal picked their way through the port, towards the bar where Evfra's man awaited.

A group of figures gathered at the base of the stairs, armed and armored. Masina turned the corner just in time to see an angara being pushed bodily away from the crowd of guards, shotgun trained on him.

“You won't get away with this!” the unarmed angara hissed at the assailants. His impotent fury was met with laughter from the armed figures.

A turian guard in the center of the crowd hefted his rifle stock-first, bringing it down towards a target obscured by the gathered guards. The blow hit with a sickening meaty thwack and a cry of pain.

 _They're beating someone,_ she realized with soft horror.

“My people won't allow it!” the angara again shouted at the guards.

“Your people would be dead without us,” the human guard replied. “Show some respect.”

Behind her, the turian brought down another blow, and another whimper.

Masina and Jaal hurried to the side of the distraught angara. “What's happening?” Masina asked the guard.

“Danny here didn't pay his protection money,” she said with a smirk. “You wanna live in Sloane's port, you better pay her what she's due.” Another muffled shriek punctuated her words.

“What, you expect him to start bleeding credits?”Masina asked, incredulous.

“This is senseless--this needs to stop!” Jaal cried, furious.

The human guard had her shotgun pointed at them now. “Dunno where you came from in your pretty spaceship, but this is our port. Our rules.”

Masina felt her amp charging in fury. Jaal shifted, sensing her biotics rising. She knew he had several firaan stored on his person. Perhaps together they could...

“ _Masina,”_ SAM cut in, _“it will be very difficult to rendezvous with Evfra’s contact if you are barred from the city.”_

“So unless you're gonna pony up Terry's missing creds,” the guard continued, “You and your hot pink muscle need to be getting on your way.” The woman's eyes flicked to something behind them. Drack and Vetra had returned.

“Ryder, we've got business,” Vetra said with an anxious twitch in her mandibles.

“Kid, you don't have any sense of when to back off and pick your battles,” Drack grumbled, standing inconveniently between the angry duo and their potential targets. “And you too,” he said, rolling an eye to glare at Jaal. “You're both on notice with me. Damn bleeding hearts.”

Vetra turned towards the bar, the old krogan following after. Masina could not bear to leave it at that, not while someone was still being hurt. She took a step back towards the guard. “How much does he owe?”

“What?” the guard asked blankly.

“How much money does he owe?” Masina repeated, enunciating every word.

“Uh, Jurius?”

“Yeah?” The turian man doing the beatdown replied, giving a few more kicks. The group's parted enough for her to see the crumpled human man at his feet.

“How much does Jerry there owe us?”

“I thought his name was Terry?”

“Whatever.”

The turian shrugged. “He owes Sloane 500 units.”

Masina immediately began keying in a credit transfer. “He's paid up,” she declared as she pressed send. “You've done your civic duty.”

“Hmph.” The turian, Jurius, considered her a moment, then, impulsively, dropped one last hard blow to the man's leg. She could hear the bone snap. The man screamed, until a backhand blow to the face cut him off.

The guards walked away.

“No, no, nonono,” the angaran man muttered, moving to cradle his friend.

“Here,” Jaal said, “let us help get him out of the open.”

The three of them settled the injured man in the shelter of the alleyway. Masina quickly applied a dose of medigel. “The leg is set,” she said, “How's it feel?”

The injured man looked at her like she's poured out gold. “Y-yeah,” he breathed in wonder. “Where'd you come from? You Nexus? Thought they didn't give a shit about us.”

“Hyperion,” she answered. She offered a handshake, which the man accepted. “Pathfinder Masina Ryder. Our ark docked about four months ago, been trying to clean up the mess the Nexus made ever since.”

“You got your work cut out for you in this place, that's for sure.”

“Why the hell is Sloane interested in creds out here?” Masina asked. “What's she gonna do with it? No way she's building up for retirement, and I haven't seen a single Skymall since I got here.”

The man barked out a laugh, wincing at the movement.

“Creds are a formality, easy way to show who’s earned their keep,” the man explained. “If you run out of those, or never had them like the angara, you work for Sloane to get her creds— _if_ her goons remember to pay you. Then they collect their cut, say they're cracking down on freeloaders, and you get kicked out into the wastes if you don't 'pull your weight.' But you've also gotta spend her creds to buy supplies from Outcast merchants, who have things like medigel,milky way food, tech supplies, and of course, everyone needs the water.”

“Water?” Masina asked.

“The port has an incredibly deep well. Angaran, pre-scourge, probably the only place on the planet you can be sure the water’s not going to eat your insides.”

“Sloane's enforcers, her Outcasts, get the best of everything,” the angara explained to them, “and membership is closed to the angara. But the port was safe from the kett, and we thought it would be the best chance he'd have at finding work offworld.”

“You two going to be okay?” she asked.

“Medigel's enough to keep me together until we can get down to the clinic in the sublevels,” the human said, as his friend helped him to his feet.

“I'll get him there,” the angara assured her. “Thank you, Pathfinder.”

“Masina,” Jaal asked as they turned back towards the bar, “what did Drack mean about 'bleeding hearts?'”

“It means we care about people, and can’t stand to not help when someone needs helping, even if it gets us in trouble” Masina answered.

“Mm.” He considered. “That sounds like a very good way to be.”

***

They entered Kralla's song as a group of angara were leaving. _They look...pinched, worn,_ she noted, _like they've not been getting quite enough to eat for far too long._ Their skin was rough and dull, in sharp contrast to Jaal's glossy vibrancy. The last one glared at her, and she couldn't help but agree with their outrage. _What Sloane has done here…_

They entered to hear the bartender shouting. “You wanna slice each other up? Do it outside my bar! Blood's a bitch to clean up.”

“Charming place.” she murmured.

“Liam had a phrase for it,” Jaal replied, “'Never a more wretched hive of scum and villainy.' Mh. We should be cautious.”

Her squad dispersed to the corners of the bar, Drack calling for a drink, Vetra moving to mingle, and Jaal making some pretense of basking at the windows. Masina chose to loiter near the bar, waiting for this Shena to approach her. She scanned the room. _Very few angara in here that could be our contact,_ she observed. _One man chatting with a human woman at one of the tables, another staring out the window in some sort of stupor. Could be feigned,_ she reasoned, _playing drunk to--_

“You look like you're waiting for someone.”

A human man had approached her at the bar, eyeing her up and down. He gestured grandly for drinks, which the bartender set down with an annoyed snap.

 _Right. A single woman at the bar must be in need of male companionship. That's just great,_ she thought, stifling a sigh. _Now I gotta figure out a way to ditch this guy without causing a scene before Evfra's contact will approach me._

The man offered her a drink, putting on his most charming smile.

She regarded the vessel skeptically. _Yeah, no way am I taking a drink from a stranger in this place._

“ _Masina,”_ SAM said, _“I can assist with the metabolizing of approximately 60% of substances typically delivered in alcoholic beverages”_

 _Not worried about what's_ _ **typically**_ _delivered, SAM_. “No thanks,” she said.

The man shrugged, and knocked back both drinks in quick succession.

“So who are you supposed to be?” she asked coldly, hoping the man would take a hint.

He gave her a little grin. “Shena.”

_...Oh._

“But you can call me Reyes,” he continued. “I hate code names.”

She shook his offered hand. “I was expecting someone more...angaran,” she admitted.

Reyes laughed at that. “The Resistance pays me to supply information, among other things,” he explained.

“I suppose Evfra does know how to diversify,” she mused. “He never pays _me_ anything.”

They walked over to chat by the window, conveniently close to Jaal and away from other, less friendly listening ears.

“Your man, Vehn Terev, was arrested by Sloane Kelly, leader of the Outcasts,” Reyes told her. “Word spread about what he did to Moshae Sjefa. The people are calling for his execution. And Sloane...she's a woman of the people.”

“Takes a lot of bread and circuses in a place like this,” Masina said. “Not sure we can leave it at that, Reyes. The Moshae wants to deal with him personally.”

“I doubt Sloane will give Vehn up easily,” Reyes replied. “Especially not to an agent of the Initiative that exiled her here.”

“It's surprising she went through the effort to take him alive. It'd be nice if she cared as much for her own people's welfare.”

“More than you might know. Ryder, we have a killer in Kadara.”

“Besides Sloane’s thugs, you mean?”

“The Outcasts usually leave people alive,” Reyes explained. “Sloane finds it hard to exploit the dead.”

“Charming.”

“At least six victims have been found, exiles first, and then angara. The killer makes no effort to hide their work. Someone's trying to make a statement.” Reyes transferred her coordinates. “Here is the location of the most recent murder. If you happen to find yourself in the area, perhaps you could look into it. People are scared, Ryder. The Pathfinder could do a lot of good here. This is your opportunity to win friends in Kadara Port.”

“The Pathfinder would like to be doing a lot of good everywhere,” Masina said with a sigh. She keyed into her omni-tool to accept the coordinates. “It's all a damn mess, but I'll have a look-- _if_ I'm in the neighborhood.”

“Of course.”

As they left the bar, Jaal asked,“So, what do you think of this _Shena_?”

“He strikes me as a man who couldn’t spit out the truth if it kicked him in the teeth.”

Jaal chuffed his agreement with her impression. “True, though Evfra may know things about him we do not.”

“Yeah, like how much the Resistance’s paying him,” Masina replied.

“Hrmph. Exactly.”

“Vetra, I saw you mingling in there. What have you learned?” Masina asked.

“Sloane's Outcasts have a new rival here on Kadara,” Vetra explained. “Group called the Collective. They're a mix of exiles and native angara. The port is all Outcast territory, but out in the wastes? Sloane's people have to watch their back. The two groups raid each other back and forth, and anyone who doesn't pick a side is likely to get caught in the crossfire.

“When people are treated this poorly, they start looking for an alternative,” Jaal commented.

“Might be a useful group to meet with,” Masina reasoned. You know where we can find their leader?”

“No one does,” Vetra replied. “Whoever they are, they call themselves the Charlatan. Intermediaries and coded messages are all--”

“Wait, is that...” Masina's attention was stolen by the sight of a crumpled angara in a pool of vivid blue. He was dead, bled out from a dozen stab wounds.

“He left the bar as we came in,” Jaal observed, as they knelt to examine the corpse. “This is recent.”

“Scans say his body was already picked over by too many sentient scavengers to be suitable evidence,” Masina said, examining the readout on her omni-tool. _Too late to help him_ , she thought, _but not too late to do something for all the other good people trapped here._ They turned toward Sloane's headquarters.

Masina had met Sloane Kelly a few times before, six hundred years and a galaxy away. Sloane had been a shining example of the human of the future, with her brilliant cybernetics and incredible combat prowess. Masina remembered her as a woman who hung on Garson's every word, full of passion for the dream; She had, as Vetra liked to put it, bought the pitch. Andromeda was supposed to be her shot to build a better world. Instead, she had built this place.

_SAM, what can you tell me about Sloane? Any background that might explain... all this?_

“ _Before joining the Initiative as head of Nexus security, Ms. Kelly served in the Alliance with a nearly spotless record.”_

_Nearly?_

“ _She was involved in multiple altercations with other officers.”_

_So a hot-head, someone who lets their emotions get the better of them sometimes. Guess that makes two of us. I can appeal to her emotions._

“ _Sloane's records demonstrate a strong trust in the leadership of others, particularly in her commitment to Director Garson's vision. It is possible that her exile from the Nexus contributed to major psychological changes.”_

_Kinda figured she wasn't the same person we partied with on launch day._

They entered the bunker that was Sloane's headquarters.

Outcast guards led them down into what was undeniably a throne room. Sloane sat in court there, surrounded by her band of thugs, just another dictator in her fortress.

 _What the hell, Sloane,_ she thought, furious.

Sloane gestured on her holoscreen, giving orders to her troops to shore up against kett incursions. “Focus defenses here and here. The kett have been quiet for too long.” She glanced up, and surveyed the four of them with unimpressed annoyance. “What?” Sloane spat at them.

All the anger and outrage Masina had felt from all she'd seen since landing here boiled to the top. “That's quite the throne,” Ryder snarked, unable to help herself. “Should I bow? Kiss your ring?”

“Very funny.”

“We didn’t come here to be kings, Sloane.” Masina declared. “We didn't come here so we could play dictator, to recreate all the suffering in the galaxy we left behind—though you've done a damn good job of that in this place. Don't you remember why you came here, the dream we all believed in? That’s not out of reach.”

“Pretty words, _Pathfinder_. Has Tann decided our lives are useful to him now?”

“I’m not working for Tann,” Masina spat. “I’m working for _Heleus_. I don’t give a damn about nexus or exile or angara, I care about people trying to live a decent life out here. People are being murdered in the streets, Sloane! That’s something you might manage to care about!”

“There's no room here your naivete,” Sloane coldly replied. “We have done what we must to survive. You weren't there for the uprising.”

“Maybe not, but I’m here now, and that dream isn’t dead.”

Sloane scoffed. “Why are you here?”

"To remind you what the hell you’re about,” Masina muttered. She glared at Sloane, and stated, “Vehn Terev.”

“What's he to you?”

“Vehn's got some...unique connections. I need him released to me so I can strike back against the kett. Considering the way you've decorated the port, it seems like you're not too fond of them either.”

“You don't need Vehn,” Sloane observed. “You need his intel. I won't give him to you. The angara here would see his head on a spike. I have to please my people.”

“Ah yes, _your people_.” Masina made a show obviously looking around at the complete absence of angara in the Outcasts. The only angara in the room stood behind the Pathfinder. “Wouldn’t it make more of an impact with ‘your people’ to give him to the Moshae so that she could decide his fate? She is the one he wronged, not you. That seems a lot like justice to me. You remember justice, right Sloane? It’s something you might have cared about once.”

Sloane stiffened at her words. “I don't have time for a morality debate. Go and have your discussion with Vehn, but he stays here,” A wave of Sloane's hand brought the guards forward to escort her to the holding cells.

Masina concluded the exchange with an elaborate, mocking bow. “Your Highness.”

As they left Sloane's throne room, Masina's brain momentarily caught up to her mouth. _Wait, I said all that to her and she's still letting us get what we need to fight the kett?_

“ _My readings of Sloane's heart rate and fine muscle movements suggest your outburst may have had more impact than expected,”_ SAM explained. _“I will conduct further analysis as opportunities arise.”_

Vetra and Drack stationed themselves outside the cell block, exchanging measuring glances with the Outcast guards. Jaal and Ryder headed inside.

“You gonna be okay in here?” she asked Jaal.

“The Resistance stands together; we depend on each other, like a family. To be betrayed by one of our own creates a deep wound. Mh. It is not Sloane's place to decide his fate, but it isn't mine either.”

“There are ways to forgive even severe crimes, to...bring healing. I hope that we may yet find a way to allow the Moshae to decide his fate.”

They reached the place where Vehn was held. Ryder stepped up to the cell doors and peered inside. The angara within sat hunched over, his skin washed out, the picture of a man resigned to his fate. He ignored her.

“I need to find the Archon's ship,” she called to him. “I hear you can help me.”

He turned his gaze to her slowly, deliberately, and with only passing interest. “What is this, a new interrogation tactic? Sloane's getting sloppy.”

Jaal stepped into view. “Sloane is not the one who sent us here,” he said.

Surprise and trepidation crossed Vehn's face.

“This is Ryder,” Jaal continued, introducing her. “She helped us rescue the Moshae, and wants to help us drive the kett from our homes.”

“I know who you are,” Vehn said. “And what happened on Voeld.”

Jaal acknowledged his statement with weighty nod. “If you still care about your people, tell us what we need to know.”

Vehn explained he got his orders through a kett transponder. “You could use it's frequency to triangulate the Archon's location.”

“You still have it?” Masina asked.

“I buried it before I was captured.” Vehn explained. “Should still be outside the city. Scan for it at the dead pools below Charybdis Point.”

“Thanks for the intel,” Masina said. She glanced briefly at Jaal, then turned to go.

“Wait. Don't you want to know why I did it?” Vehn asked, rising to stand at his cell door. “Why I betrayed the Moshae?”

“You wish to tell us,” Jaal said. “Then, go ahead.”

“We're losing the war against the kett, you know it, you've seen it too. And still, Evfra puts our brothers and sisters in danger to protect one old woman.”

“So you took things into your own hands,” Masina finished for him.

“The Archon only wanted the Moshae. I thought if I gave her up... “ Vehn sighed. “I didn't know what the kett were doing to our people.”

“You saw the sacrifices our people chose to make, and took that choice from them, and in doing so, you betrayed us all.”

“I did what I thought was right,” Vehn declared. The fire went out of him all at once, and he slumped back to his seat. “...And I'll accept the consequences.”

***

As they stepped out of Sloane's palace and surveyed the city before them, Jaal turned to her.

“Masina, I have something to say. I've tried to keep it to myself, but I feel the need to be honest about it.”

“What's that, Jaal?”

“I _hate_ this place.”

 


	18. Scum and Villainy

“Well, this looks like the place Vehn was talking about,” Masina said, pulling the Nomad around on some relatively solid ground overlooking the geyser basin. “Shame we couldn't get him released to us.”

“The Resistance may yet retrieve him, with the intel we were able to obtain from inside Sloane's headquarters,” Jaal noted.

“What intel?”

“Structural scans, mostly. I've made some improvements to this.” Jaal gestured to his ocular.

“Huh. I didn't know it could do that,” Masina said, packing up the last of her gear.

“Mh. You never asked.” Jaal shrugged. “Don't fret, I've only used it's recording capabilities on field missions since we rescued the Moshae. “

“That's... good to know.”

Jaal nodded. “I expect Vehn will be obtained as soon as such an effort will not compromise our position here.”

Masina hopped out of the Nomad. She took a moment to simply admire the strange loveliness of Kadara, here at the pools below Charybdis Point.

The land had a fierce beauty. Geysers, bellowing fumaroles, pools sizzling with so much escaping sulfur dioxide they could be mistaken for frying pans. Strange mineral formations burst from azure-blue waters, rising sulfur spires and elegant travertine terraces. The main pool was in the midst of an eruption, gurgling roars and plumes of foam-white water reaching towards the sky.

“Even the water is like a festering wound no medicine can heal,” Jaal spat.

“And yet there's life here,” Masina said. “Look: coral trees, plants growing right up to the water's edge, and who knows what sort of extremophiles are hanging out in the pools themselves. Suvi would love to see this,” she added, pulling out her scanner.

“I suppose it would have a beauty,” Jaal grudgingly acknowledged, “if the planet wasn't covered in murderers and traitors.”

“Weird name, Charybdis,” Vetra commented. “Is it angaran?”

“I'm not sure. The local dialects...”

“Actually, it's human,” Ryder cut in as she picked her way down towards the pools. “It's from an old story about a man on a long voyage to get home to his family, and all the challenges he had to overcome to get there. At one point he had to sail his ship between Charybdis, a big whirlpool, and Scylla, a big many-headed monster.”

“So if Charybdis is the acid pools, would that make Scylla Sloane and her Outcasts?” Vetra wondered.

“Probably?” Masina replied. “One thing's for sure. To have named their shantytown after a three thousand year old legend, there's some scholars up there among those exiles.”

“But, _you_ knew what it was?” Jaal asked.

“You saying I'm not a scholar? Psh.” Masina waved a hand dismissively in his direction. “But, I'd be more likely to name it Acidtown, or New Hazmat, or Vacation Paradise.”

The eruption in the great pool stuttered to a stop, blue water's surface shimmering with steam. Masina moved up for a closer look.

Dry grey-green lichens covered the ground, tight twisting spirals and tiny tangled antlers that crunched underfoot at the water's edge. She knelt at the water's edge, scanner at work, trying for a closer examination of some odd-looking formations beneath the water.

Bones. Bones of all the Heleus peoples, coated with crystals from the mineral-rich waters. Piled together and scattered across the pool by the force of the water. She recognized an angaran skull, looking starkly kettlike with the soft mantle eaten away, and there, the sharp angles of turian bones, pitted metallic carapace still visible here and there under the white crystals. A particularly showy and graceful crystal spire grew from the tip of a scapula, human or asari she couldn’t be sure. They were beautiful in death, though their demise was unjust.

 _Who had these people been?_ she wondered.

She took careful scans of the mineralized remains. Perhaps SAM could analyze them and match at least some of the skeletons with names, faces. Give loved ones out there some closure, at least.

 _Jaal's right about this place,_ she thought. She felt a wistful longing for the peace of that morning, preparing their gear together before planetfall, catching Jaal rumbling out a song from Fleet and Flotilla with his deep voice she could feel as much as hear.

Jaal called to her--He'd found the transponder Vehn had hidden. The device was more than a little worse for wear from its time in the acid-laced soil.

As she stowed the damaged device safely in the Nomad, Masina found herself reflecting on Jien Garson's dream, what it had meant to all of them, what they believed in to come all the way to Andromeda. Sloane had been as idealistic as the rest of them, then, working towards equality, eager to leave behind all the worst parts of the Milky Way. Masina had hoped that the stories she'd heard of Sloane since exile would end up being just more of Tann's self-inflating spin.

Things had strayed so far from Jien's vision. But the dream wasn't dead yet, not while they kept fighting for it.

_***_

Reyes' directions led them to the site of the murder at Charybdis Point. A hasty lock on the door and a scrawled “No Looting, Zear's Place.' was all that had protected the scene. That and the stench of decay, strong enough to overwhelm the sulfur in the steamy air.

Someone had murdered a krogan in his own home. _Daring,_ she thought, as she knelt to examine the fallen krogan corpse. _And I'd call it fatally stupid to attempt if it hadn't succeeded._

“Pathfinder,” SAM informed them, “Mr. Vidal is attempting to contact us.”

 _Interesting timing,_ she thought. “Patch him through.” When the channel opened, she spoke. “Reyes, I'm at the crime scene.”

“Great, I've got intel on our dead guy,” Reyes told her. “Krogan male, went by the name of Zear.”

“Well, your intel's good,” Masina replied. “He's definitely dead.”

She continued examining the corpse, blessing the air scrubbers in her helmet. The man's frontal plate had been pried off, leaving the brain unarmored, then point-blank shotgun to the soft spot beneath. The plate lay on the floor next to the corpse, knife-marks on the underside. There were non-krogan prints in the dried mess of blood on the floor—the unmistakable handprint-like tracks of angara. SAM identified the tracks of three discrete individuals. Scans of Zear's corpse showed significant electrical burns. _How many angara does it take to kill a krogan? Three, two to stun him with their bioelectrics and one to pry off his frontal plate._

“Reyes, I've got signs the killers were angaran. You know of any reason the natives would have it out for Zear?”

“Most of the local settlements had a good relationship with Zear,” Reyes explained. “He traded with them for supplies, even sold one settlement water when Sloane's men sabotaged their family water still. No, Ryder, if angara killed him, I suspect it was the Roekaar.”

Masina sighed. _If there was any place for Akksul's xenophobia to gain traction, it's this mess._

“ _DNA cannot identify political affiliations,”_ SAM replied.

“Place hasn't been looted,” Vetra noted. “Nothing's been disturbed, and there's some good stuff here. They were just get in, murder, get out.”

“More evidence someone was trying to make a point,” Masina reasoned.

They continued to examine the evidence. Zear's personal logs noted he had put out mines to protect the place, and they kept being defused and stolen. He blamed it on scavs. A bottle of ryncol lay on the floor by the door, and there was elevated alcohol in the corpse's bloodstream. They attacked when he was drunk, ambushed him in his own home. Whoever the attackers were, they'd watched him for a while, gotten to know his patterns and defenses before they struck.

Jaal was the one to find the murder weapon: a bloodstained firaan, bearing an inscription in Shelesh. “A home filled with strangers becomes a prison,” Jaal translated. “Akksul's words.”

“It doesn't get more apparent than that.” Vetra said.

“But it doesn’t explain the murdered angara. Surely the Roekaar wouldn’t target their own people?” Masina asked.

“Before, I would not have believed so,” he said. The writing on the firaan caught the light as he examined it. “Now…I am not so sure. The Roekaar do value taking aggressive action against the enemies of our people, no matter the cost.”

“Maybe someone else is behind the angara murders, and the Roekaar were here in response?” Masina suggested.

“ _This theory does not fit the evidence Mr. Vidal provided,”_ SAM told her. “ _Several initiative exiles were killed significantly prior to the first angaran victim's deaths. This inscription, along with angaran footprints and genetic material, supports the theory proposed by Mr. Vidal, Pathfinder.”_

“Reyes,” Masina said over the comm channel, “we've got evidence of Roekaar involvement here. Looks like they were behind Zear's death.”

“Good work, Ryder.” Reyes congratulated her. “Now, let's pay our local Roekaar a visit.”

“You know where they are?” Masina asked, incredulous.

“I wasn't sitting on my ass this whole time,” Reyes replied. “I'm looking at the place right now.”

“Send me the coordinates.” Masina turned to her companions. “Reyes has tracked the location of the Roekaar hideout. We’re sure to find answers there.”

***

The coordinates led them to a small set of stairs leading into the mountain's depths. A mine, or perhaps a facade over a natural cave entrance. Reyes was notably absent.

Jaal double-checked the coordinates, then shook his head. “This is the spot, but: no Reyes.”

“He said he was in sight of the place,” Masina murmured, as they crept closer. “Hope he didn't get himself captured. We see anyone, violence is a last resort.”

“You don't need to remind me,” Jaal said. “Evfra has made _very_ clear the Resistance is not to antagonize the Roekaar.”

They crept right up to the mine's entry doors, scanning.

“ _I detect no sign of Mr. Vidal.”_ SAM told her. _“Shall we proceed without him?”_

Without warning, the doors flew open. Three armed angara burst out, guns drawn. “Don't move!” one shouted.

Masina raised her hands in surrender, the others following her lead. “Were we too loud?" she snarked. _If they were going to fire on us, they'd have done it already,_ she reasoned.

“Shut up,” the Roekaar replied. “Farah will deal with you.”

They were led deeper into the cavern. The Roekaar had a rather impressive little training camp setup in here. Sparring rings broke apart at their approach, Roekaar recruits bringing their weapons to bear as Masina and her companions were completely surrounded.

_Time to pull out the fancy words. Things are gonna get messy if we can't talk ourselves out of this._

The Roekaar parted. One woman passed through their ranks with the unmistakable bearing of a leader. Farah Noskos approached. Masina recognized her as the pinched, angry woman who had glared at her as they entered Kralla's Song. _Had she been preparing for murder in that moment?_

Farah regarded them with all the dispassion of a marksman eyeing a practice target. “You were found lurking at our doorstep. I don't think I need to tell you how foolish that choice was.”

“Easy,” Masina said. “We only came to talk.”

“We don't talk with outsiders,” Farah said coldly.

“What about one of your own?” Jaal said smoothly, with that gentle smile of his that could charm any number of alien leaders into submission.

Farah cursed at him. “You live with them, eat with them, travel with them, _smell_ like them. You'll bleed, just like the others.” Farah drew a firaan, this one again inscribed with Akksul's words of hate.

“Your field seethes with attraction towards this invader. You disgust me. But if you care for them so much...I will mingle your lifebloods when they have been spilled in the dirt. I wonder what color they will make?”

“So it's true,” Masina said. “You murdered innocent people.”

“Invaders and sympathizers are not _innocent,”_ Farah spat. “I will protect my home!”

“Don't let your hate poison you. We can coexist.”

“Like here on Kadara? Sloane lies to my people and uses them for power.”

“I'm not Sloane,” Masina declared.

“Ryder has--” Jaal began.

“No.” Farah cut him off, hefting her blade. “You are _all_ the same.”

_Shit, this is going well, isn’t it? But as long as she's talking, she's not stabbing. Maybe we can still bring her around._

Masina opened her mouth to speak “I--”

A yell from behind them, a human voice. “Get down!”

The biotic shield Masina had been holding at the ready swept up around the three of them as explosions and gunfire tore through the cave.

Farah was cut down in an instant, an explosion tearing her apart before their eyes.

 _No! Damnit,_ she thought, as the Roekaar woman died, and any hope of peaceful resolution here with her. _Wait—that was Reyes' voice!_

What Roekaar who had not been downed by the explosions, rockfalls, and gunfire drew weapons to avenging their fallen leader. They did not last long.

Reyes strolled towards them in the aftermath, preening like a hero. “You can thank me later,” he said, all smiles and charm as he stood over the dead Roekaar. Masina noticed he'd tracked through the fallen woman's blood, leaving his own prints at the scene.

“What the hell was that, Reyes?!” Masina exclaimed.

“...I saved you?” Reyes said, his smile fading to bafflement.

“I had her monologuing--we were fine!”

Ryder shouted to the others to search the place for more information.

As her fury cooled, several facts suddenly snapped together in her mind. Reyes managed to wire this place with a lot of explosives, more than should be within the means of a simple smuggler. He had somehow managed to wire an active Roekaar base, which spoke to coordination, compatriots among the natives, and a lot of planning.

Reyes must have known the Roekaar were the killers all along, and he was sitting on the means to eliminate them. He'd just needed a scapegoat to pin their deaths on, and the Pathfinder was the perfect target.

He had _used_ her.

She wheeled on Reyes “Thought you didn’t know who was behind this?!” she exclaimed, furious. “That was an awfully coordinated attack for such short notice, Reyes. I--”

A shout from Jaal pulled her away. The distress in his voice made attending to him far more urgent than castigating a known liar for not telling her the whole truth.

Jaal bent over a desk, examining a series of datapads. Farah's personal logs. She read over his shoulder. Lists of victims and selected victims with their crimes. Milky Way and angara, both. The list of crimes that would cause the Roekaar to murder their fellow angara: providing food, shelter, friendship... The motive for one murder was that the victim was seen _flirting_ with an alien. Ryder felt a chill, keenly aware of a particular angara that was _very_ guilty of the same thing.

Jaal was distraught. He showed her data files, pulling up…some sort of report? Portions were highlighted, discussing the vulnerabilities of various Initiative species and how to kill them.

_...human heart is placed higher in the chest than angara, and to the left of midline. Vulnerable to headshot with standard arms, hand to hand combat. Head and chest highly vulnerable to electric shock, which can cause immediate death. Cervical vertebrae delicate, skull can be easily unseated in hand-to-hand combat._

_Turian: skin is armored and conductive--electric shock will cause minor disruption, rarely lethal. Vulnerable areas to arms fire include neck, flank, and back and sides of skull_.

_Krogan are highly durable, with multiple redundant vital organs. However, Drack tells me they are vulnerable to their armored plates being pried off, a fate all krogan fear..._

She read further. More of the Tempest crew were mentioned by name across the text.

“Jaal… What is this?”

“Ryder…” Jaal's voice was thick with grief.“I wrote these, early in my time on the Tempest,” he explained, anguished. “I sent this information directly to Evfra, to only be used if the Initiative betrayed us. It should not be here! It was not meant for the Roekaar,” Jaal exclaimed, furious. “It should have never gotten this far. We must go to Aya. I need to discuss this with Evfra-- _in person_.”

 


	19. To Each Their Own Blindness

Together, they stepped out into the Ayan sunlight. Masina found herself scanning the Aya docks as if she expected a Roekaar ambush to pop out of the fountains. The idea that he might be unsafe in his people’s sanctuary gnawed at her, infuriated her.

“People may want to hurt you for all the good you’ve done for us,” she murmured to Jaal as they walked down the Tempest's boarding ramp. “As if we didn’t have enough to fight, now I’ve put a target on your back for your own people. What if more target you for your association with me?

Jaal walked a little closer to her, looming over her in his comforting way. “Masina, Aya is not Kadara. You sound like Evfra.”

“I never meant to put you in danger. Jaal. If anything happened to you…Be careful.“

He waved off her words, opening his omni-tool. “Dear Masina, I didn't join your crew to stay safe. Besides,” he added with a grin, “I am _very quick_.”

They set a brisk pace through the marketplace. For all his good humor, Jaal was unwilling to spare a moment towards anything that would delay his meeting with Evfra.

Good humor had been in short supply through the FTL jump from Kadara. Jaal had returned to the Tempest the very picture of angaran anguish, pacing in fury, distraught over the murders he had unknowingly assisted. He made no effort to hide what he had done, nor to apologize for gathering the information he had--and really, given the circumstances, she couldn't blame him. For all he had known in those first few days, his choice to join them could have been a suicide mission. Better to gather all the intel he could to keep his people safe. Any grudges the crew might have held were eased by Jaal's obvious distress at what had been done with his reports.

Masina had distracted him with Shelesh lessons, Liam with ancient vids, Drack with detailed questions about angaran cooking techniques—even SAM had made efforts, clogging up nearly their entire QEC bandwidth to stream elcor Hamlet from Nexus archives.

And eventually, her 'special angaran friend' had calmed. By now, Masina was sure the crew had noticed how much of her time was spent in Jaal's company, but no one had given her any flak for it. For all the frustrations the crew had caused her, sometimes they were pretty all right.

Jaal hadn't wanted to risk a QEC link with Evfra. Even if the signal couldn't be traced, there was no telling where the intel leak might lie within Resistance Headquarters. No, safer to speak with Evfra in person. But for this confrontation, Masina would not be at his side. A fortuitous complication had arisen as they drew near to Aya--Jaal received a message from the Moshae, that Akksul had accepted her invitation to meet, and would be onworld for a brief time. Sjefa would keep him occupied as long as she could. If they were very fortunate, Ryder would have her chance to confront the Roekaar leader.

Jaal had told her, in his blunt angaran way, that he had never gotten along terribly well with the Moshae's golden student. His presence was as likely to hinder her as help, especially with his field full of unabashed affection for her. While she would have felt better with Jaal's presence, it was safest to shield Jaal from even greater chances of Roekaar retaliation. Still, she felt a pang of nervousness as they parted at the steps of the Repository.

_Time to meet with Akksul,_ she thought. _Just gotta find a way to convince the leader of a xenophobic splinter group we're not the bad guys._ _No pressure._

Masina tried to recall everything Jaal had told her about the man. Dangerous, charismatic, without the pragmatism that made Evfra such a valuable leader. He inspired devotion, and used that devotion to spread hate.

_He'll make you want to kill him,_ Jaal had told her.

_What sort of Aya would he see now?_ she wondered. _Initiative members, the ambassador and her retinue, researchers, diplomats and tradesmen, asari, turian, salarian, human. No krogan yet, but maybe someday soon._

_Aya isn't Kadara. Our peoples are living here in some sort of harmony, one we're inventing every day._ But would that sight soften the Roekaar leader, or enrage him?

Masina walked down the repository, past the small display of Initiative artifacts, the little holoprojection of the Tempest marking the day of her arrival. _We're here to stay, and we can work together. I can make him see that. It's right in front of his face, here._ After everything that had happened on Kadara, she dearly wanted to get through to Akksul, to end his followers' attacks on her people and his own.

_What to say, though?_ she thought, as she stood before the Moshae's office door. _There's the obvious truths: If we fight each other instead of standing together, the kett will conquer us both. And we want to get along. Sloane's a big fucking problem, I agree—and I'm trying to figure out how to resolve that mess myself. Without murder, thanks._

_Farah had good reason to be incensed, though she could have been a lot less murdery about it. The story of Kadara is damning. But really, Akksul, would you trust us more if we were flawless?_

“ _Masina,”_ SAM interjected,

_I know, I know: stop holding pretend arguments before I run out of time for the real one._

She opened the door, SAM relaying a few supportive words about her capabilities.

She heard voices in the lab below.

“Evfra should have come to _me.”_ An angaran man's voice, melodic, furious.

“Shh, Akksul,” the Moshae murmured. “I’m all right.”

“You almost died.”

Masina stepped into view.

“--What’s _she_ doing here?” the man, who could only be Akksul, said, turing to face her with disgust. She found herself...less than impressed at the man responsible for spreading such a wave of hate across the cluster. _He has more bluster,_ she thought, _but Taavos had more iron. Gold painted lines on his face and crown, the sunrise arch worn by men of status and wisdom, like Esmus, or Ambassador Isa. A sign of honored status, or a mark of his own arrogant pride?_

“The Moshae invited me,” Masina explained, continuing down the stairs to stand before them.“I don’t want us to be enemies. People are dying, and I want it to stop.”

An expression of shock and betrayal crossed Akksul's face with her first words. “Is this true?” He asked the Moshae, in reference to her coordinating the meeting. Had he even heard the rest of her statement?

_How can I convince him if he doesn't want to hear what I have to say?_

“Akksul,” Sjefa said, with a gentleness in her tone, “Ryder rescued me from the kett. She risked her life to—“

“And Sloane Kelly saved Kadara,” Akksul cut off the Moshae's words. “Look how that went.”

“I know.” Masina said, “I encountered her when I was sent to retrieve Vehn Terev for judgment. I would have liked to kick her off the mountain—but that would have made retrieving Vehn Terev difficult,” Masina added in a burst of inspiration. “They both deserve more justice than I can bring. But Sloane isn’t the only one murdering people in the streets.”

“You're bringing up an angaran traitor to downplay an alien tyrant. Your attempts at manipulation are transparent to me.” He turned, and hissed to Moshae, “Do not trust them, _shovaan_.” Akksul shoved past her towards the door.

_No, no no no, he is **not** going to go already. He needs to understand how **senseless** this is. _

She blinked across the room with her biotics, to face him one more time.

“Akksul, the Roekaar on Kadara, Farah, _your Roekaar_ \--they were murdering angara, your own people, for the act of befriending my own. How can we possibly stand against the kett if we're fighting each other?”

Akksul loomed over her, threatening, but with an eager light in his eyes. “Bar my way again…”

He wanted her to do it, she realized. He was eager for her to defy him. He'd be delighted to provoke her, to justify his violence.

She stepped aside. “Something must be done before more innocent lives are lost, for both our people.”

He stooped towards her, and sneered. “You're no different from the kett, except less cautious.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“You will see soon enough.”

“Akksul...” The Moshae's sad, fruitless call was met only with the soft sound of the door closing behind the Roekaar leader. The old woman sighed.

Masina walked over and sat at her side.

“He didn't used to be like this,” Sjefa said. “He was...curious. Brilliant. But the kett...even without exaltation, they change us.”

Masina tried to put together the word Akksul had called the Moshae: s _hovaan._ _Sholaon_ was adopted sibling, she remembered that from Jaal's lessons in Shelesh, from _-laon_ , sibling, and _sho_ , which meant adopted, chosen. So following the same logic, _shovaan_ would mean...

_Mother. Adopted mother._

_Oh. No wonder she has a soft spot when it comes to him._

“There's still time to bring him around,” Masina offered, to comfort the old woman if nothing else.

“I want to believe that,” Sjefa answered, “but...his hatred towards aliens...”

“I'm doing all I can to prove the Initiative can be trusted. And so's our ambassador and her people here on Aya, and the researchers helping out on Havarl, our Apex teams helping fight the kett on Voeld...Eventually, there will be so much evidence we're alright, he'll have to see it.”

“I hope you're right,” Sjefa replied. The woman shifted, her manner becoming a little less vulnerable, a little more like the Moshae. “Thank you for your assistance towards freeing Vehn Terev. I understand he's being transported to Aya now.”

“What will you do with him?”

“Evfra wanted to punish him, but he respects my input. Vehn may have been Evfra's soldier, but he was my personal guard.” The Moshae smiled softly. “I suggested he help tend Aya's gardens.”

“That's a...big difference, and a big mercy, for what he caused you to go through.”

“Did he? No, it all comes back to the kett. Vehn has spent too long surrounded by death. He needs to reconnect with life. “

_Such a stark contrast, her mercy, her son's rage. No wonder she struggles to understand him._

***

Masina left the Repository, and headed for their chosen meeting spot: Jaal's customary balcony, where one could watch the storms, enjoy the breeze, and have room to think. Jaal himself wasn't there yet. _He must still be meeting with Evfra,_ she reasoned. _Hopefully he has better luck than me._

_Jaal said Akksul has the scars to show for his time in kett captivity, but I didn't see any. I wonder..._

“ _I observed significant abnormalities in Akksul's bioelectric profile,”_ SAM noted. “ _Doctor T'Perro noted in her review of angaran physiology that the kett routinely damage the taon channels of their forced labor captives.”_

_To prevent them from using their abilities to attack their captors._ She remembered now. The kett wouldn't care that angara used their bioelectricity to communicate, to express emotions, make art... and to interface with technology, with remtech. She remembered Jaal easily opening a remnant device with a wave of his hand, his bioelectrics accomplishing in seconds what Peebee had struggled with for days.

Akksul had been the Moshae's best student, a master of remtech.

_The kett stole his future. No wonder he didn't go back to being the Moshae's second._

She struggled to find an analogue for humans for that sort of mutilation; it was like having one's tongue cut out, reminding him every day, every moment of what was taken from him.

_All good reasons to hate kett, but they aren't us. Pity him, but there's thousands of angara that have suffered the same treatment at the hands of kett captors. They haven't all chosen to take it out on all aliens._

_Akksul refused all therapy,_ she remembered. _Said his hate made him clearer than ever._ He could probably communicate broadly still, but the fine details--like whatever Jaal had tried to say, when he held her hand—those were taken from him.

_SAM,_ she subvocalized, _make a note to share Initiative data on biotic nerve node regeneration treatments--might contain some useful data for treating mutilated angara._

“ _Of course, Masina. I will begin collating data momentarily.”_

Admiring the gardens around her, she considered the Moshae's judgment of Vehn. ' _Surrounded by death, he needs to reconnect with life.'_ Somehow, Masina expected it was not just Vehn Terev Sjefa wished could learn that lesson.

A flicker of blue in the corner of her eye. She turned, to see Jaal returning from his own meeting. Discouragement was apparent to her in the set of his shoulders and the set of his stride.

They came together, tired and frustrated, to draw strength from each others' company, and simply stood together for a bit, leaning on the balcony rail side by side.

“Guess divide and conquer didn’t work so well, huh?” she asked.

“On the contrary, I think it worked very well. We were divided and we were conquered.”

She had a tired laugh for that.

“He wouldn’t even talk to me,” Masina told him, shaking her head. “Just stormed out, shouting about how all my words were lies. Even the Moshae couldn’t stop him.”

“Mh. Evfra acknowledged my concerns, but… that is all he will do about it. The Resistance does not interfere with the Roekaar, or antagonize them.”

“Yeah, somebody needs to remind Reyes of that,” Masina said.

“I was able to confirm that Evfra was not behind Reyes's assorted machinations,” Jaal told her. “It is most likely he was working with one of the Dohrgun mothers, Keema. She acts as angaran liaison to Sloane. We should speak with her, should we be unfortunate enough to return to Kadara.”

Masina nodded. “And the intel leak?” she asked.

“The reports were distributed to several Resistance cells, to ensure it would not be lost should Aya fall. A defector from one of these cells took the data with them, and presented it to the Roekaar, along with a great deal of our supplies.”

“They're stealing from the Resistance and Evfra still won't do anything about them?”

“Mh. To Evfra, the purpose he has chosen for himself is to preserve angaran life. All angaran life, no matter whose side. It is one of the things that helped him unite our forces and form the Resistance. More angara alive, more kett dead. It was a simple equation, until you arrived.”

“Is that why he’s always so grumpy?”

“That, and… other things.”

She gave him a look, but didn't press him for more information. Knowing Jaal, ‘other things’ was probably a thorough listing of every trial and sorrow Evfra had faced.

“So, what do we do about Akksul now? What can we do?”

“Be ready. He is…dramatic. He will try something soon.”

 


	20. The Bad Aliens

It was not long after that the distress message from Eos arrived, calling the Tempest back to that dry, hopeful world the Initiative was shaping into a home for its peoples.

So Jaal again walked the sandy avenues of Prodromos at Masina's side. This was the only home the Initiative had, the only place they could claim the stone beneath their feet.

Augustus Bradley, a wise veteran to Jaal's perception. His message had said little, but revealed much. A quiet buildup, unknown forces lurking on the edges of the colony's sight, a foe lacking in the might of the kett stalking in the mountains, and so the colony stilled, watching and waiting.

The people there were peaceful, but determined and well supplied. The colony was not an easy target for scavengers or thieves. If someone wished to strike here, they were trying to make a point. They wanted to make the Initiative _hurt._

Bradley met them in the heart of the colony. “Sorry to keep you in the dark, Pathfinder. But there are eyes on this planet.”

“We didn't see much traffic from orbit,” Masina observed. Patient, but curious. She'd make a good Resistance agent, he thought.

“It's there,” Bradley replied. “But hopefully you can get ahead of this before it turns into something bad.”

“Bradley, what's going on?” Masina asked. “You said there were hostiles inbound.”

“We've had raids on our forward supply posts, some of the outlying farms. With all our scientific gizmos, we expected pirates. But not this.”

Bradley opened a recording on his omni-tool. A voice, speaking in Shelesh: “.. _.four five, repeat. Stockpile complete, waiting for beacon. Launch on detection. One two three._..”

“It goes in and out with the weather. You straightened out the storms for us with the vault, but I wouldn't call reception clear,” Bradley grew more serious. “Here's my worry: maybe the raids we've seen were just a decoy, so someone could do a slow tactical buildup in the Blackrock.”

“He means Roekaar,” Jaal observed. “That's why he called us.”

“An attack on our first outpost,” Bradley said. “Can you imagine how the Nexus would react?”

“Third outpost.” Drack corrected. “Eos already had two. I've hunted a lotta kett in those ruins.”

“If Prodromos fell...” Masina said, disturbed, “Our first success, after so much loss...It would be unforgivable—the Nexus would be out for blood.”

“Exactly the response Akksul wants,” Jaal confirmed.

“Eos has been through enough. Bradley,” Masina declared, “we'll put a stop to whatever this is.”

“I knew you would,” Bradley said. “We've had a few people go missing out in the Blackrock, near the source of the signal. I'll send you the coordinates. I hope I'm wrong, Pathfinder. I didn't want to bring this kind of thinking to Andromeda.”

***

Ryder knelt over the corpse of one of the lost Prodromos scouts deep in the Tande. Electrical burns drew trails of red lightning across the human’s body, barely hidden by tattered civilian clothing.

Jaal watched her close the dead man's eyes. “Electrocution,” she murmured. “Stopped his heart.”

“Painful, but at least it was fast,” Drack said.

Jaal was struck by the fragility of human life. To be slain by something so mundane as electricity, the same charge that ran through his own body.

“A blast like this could only be done at short range,” he observed, stepping closer. “Maybe they--”

Without warning, Drack shoved the two of them aside, his bulk sending them all stumbling among the rocks.

_What?--_

Then Jaal saw the dot of a laser sight skittering across the sand where they had stood.

“Sniper!”

Gunshots, none connecting. The Roekaar had found them.

 _The bodies were placed here for us to find,_ he realized. _Bait, to lure us in._ A deep anger rose in him at the thought. How many efforts had his own people made, to retrieve those fallen on kett battlefields? The Initiative peoples were no different—and these Roekaar, his own people, had used this common decency as a weakness to exploit.

There would be no room for diplomacy with these ones.

The Roekaar there struck quickly, attempting to kill the three of them. Jaal counted eight--no, seven now, as Drack struck one down. Regardless of his feelings toward the Roekaar, Evfra had no compunction against his soldiers defending themselves. Jaal called out to Ryder, advising her on tactics, encouraging her to strike. And at his words, _strike_ she did, biotics streaking across the orange sand.

The ambush did not go well for the Roekaar.

When the dust cleared, and the ambushers had fled or fallen, Jaal asked Drack how he sensed the sniper.

“Laser sight has a whine to it, sound gave him away.”

“You can hear that?” Masina asked. “Even with SAM I couldn't pick that up.”

Drack laughed. “You humans really can't hear for shit.”

Backtracking the trail of the fallen attackers, they were able to locate the Roekaar listening post. A comm array, a few solar collectors, a couple of short-range EVA modules, a battered kett ground vehicle, retrofit. A speaker still softly played within the Roekaar camp, spreading the leader's words to the empty sands.

“ _If these aliens are permitted to put down roots here, where else will their greed turn to? Havarl? Voeld? They have even been permitted to know the location of our precious Aya—as we speak, they crawl across its surface under the incompetent watch of Evfra de Tershaav and Paaran Shie.”_

Jaal shut out Akksul's voice to sift through the Roekaar data. Amidst reams of surveillance data, he uncovered what he both expected and feared to find: battle plans, an outline for an attack on Prodromos. The documents were lacking in some key tactical details, but were thick with Akksul’s propaganda declaring the necessity of wiping out every foothold of the invaders, cleansing the planet for the safety of the angara.

An automated distress signal had been sent out when the listening post's ranking officer, killed in the failed ambush, had not checked in on time. The signal called to the assembled Roekaar elsewhere on Eos to mobilize for an imminent attack on the colony. Prodromos would have hours, not days, to prepare. They sent an urgent comm message to Bradley, calling for him to ready the colony for attack, and Ryder sent the Nomad flying back across the sand to aid them.

Prodromos was well on it's way to mobilizing on their return to the colony. Jaal watched civilians arming themselves, children being ushered to whatever safety could be found. It was a fearful routine he found all too familiar.

He watched the boy Danny, the child who had been so eager to meet an angara, be given a parting embrace by two adults who could only be his mother and father. His _only_ mother and father, with how small human families were. The man was armed, though the weapon sat uneasily upon him; the woman, who he recalled must be with child, wore technician's clothing. Even from here, he could see their tears, the boy's frightened confusion and fear. All the family the child had with him in this strange new world. Like three small stones, stacked together; if even one was removed, the structure would collapse.

How many times in his childhood did he hide with his siblings in the caves beneath their daar, not knowing who of his family would come home?

Evfra consistently ordered Resistance agents to recuse themselves from conflict with the Roekaar whenever possible. 'Though we disagree, we are still brethren,' that was the logic. The justification.

He remembered squeezing into those caverns with his siblings, into places too narrow for kett to reach them, hearing the hatch close above them and furniture being moved on top of it. Remembered the hours, holding his younger siblings in the dark, trying to reassure them, hearing shouts and gunfire above, every moment fearing that the hatch would open and he would hear not the soothing voices of his mothers, but the harsh bark of Tonaizhet.

But it was not kett these people faced, but angara. His people. Would Danny and the rest of the children of Prodromos learn to fear Shelesh the same way?

 _'Are you one of the good aliens?'_ The child's question haunted him.

He knew what he must do.

Jaal hurried to the largest meeting room of the colony, where Bradley was coordinating defenses with the Pathfinder and the colonists-turned-militia. The conversation, speculations on where and when the Roekaar might strike, stumbled to a halt at his arrival. Wary eyes of many colors watched him, civilians full of fear, yet determined to defend their home.

_If the Roekaar had their choice, they will attack at night, to take advantage of humans’ abysmal low-light vision. Cut power, kill the humans while they’re blind in the dark._

_We won’t give them that opportunity._

He offered them a plan: to reroute the signals, set up false beacons in the ruins of the first two colonies. “It's an old Resistance trick,” Jaal explained. “Reflecting sensor readings to mislead the kett away from our homes. The Roekaar will not expect it from you.”

The woman who was Danny's mother introduced herself as Rachel Warner, comms technician. She accompanied him to the colony's satcom array, and together they set up the shadow signal that would hide the colony. As they completed the final adjustments, and the signal mask began to come online, she turned to him. Even with angara bearing down upon her home, she did not look on him with fear or suspicion, only a friendly respect.

“You know,” she said, closing the access panels of the array, “If we all survive this, and your people give you trouble for the part you’re playing, for helping us...” She turned, and looked at him with all the intensity of a mother's gaze. “I want you to know, you’ve always got a place here.”

_Even if your own people cast you out, name you traitor for siding with aliens against your own, we will make sure you always have a home._

***

“Civilians lived here,” Drack told him, as they gathered in the ruins of the colony called Resilience. “Technicians and scientists. But they fought, held on to this place for a while against the kett.”

Jaal could still see the signs of battle, the scorch marks across the prefab walls, scattered kett technology from their occupation here. Now he stood against a different alien attack, here with Ryder, with Drack and Cora and Vetra. With colonists holding new weapons with unsure hands. He helped the man who was Danny's father adjust the safety of the rifle in his nervous hands. He was a soil technician, Jaal learned. He had come here with his family to help things grow. As Jaal walked through the defensive lines, he offered what help or encouragement he could. Many of the colonists' expressions would not be out of place on new Resistance recruits: frightened, unsure, but stubborn. These alien men and women were not warriors, but they had traveled so far, and risked so much; they would not give up their home, no matter the shape of the monster at the door.

Three dropships of Roekaar soldiers descended on the settlement.

Sight-aim-fire. A Roekaar fell with his bullet in their skull. Another one of his people lost.

He sighted the next target.

***

The Roekaar had suffered heavy losses. They were prepared for fighting civilians, for a slaughter, an _extermination_. They had not expected resistance.

Jaal studied the blue blood spilled across the sand. His handiwork. He could not say what consequences he might face for this.

He felt Ryder, Masina, approach, the energy signature of her biotics unmistakable. She came beside him, put her arm around him, and held him as he wept for the lost, for the senselessness of their deaths. So many were so young, barely adults. Their lives cut short, sacrificed for Akksul's crusade. He was steadfast in his surety that defending the colonists was the right thing to do, but oh how he hated and mourned that such a slaughter was necessary.

Bradley, the leader of the colonists here, approached them. Masina pulled away, and he missed her touch in its absence.

“Thank you for your help today,” Bradley said. “I know it wasn't easy.”

“It was not.”

“Hate to ask any more of you, but we need to know: what should we do with the bodies? Not gonna leave them out here for the karkyn.”

“They will be wearing…family honorifics,” he said, gesturing absently to the script that flowed down the leg of his armor, “to identify the bodies.”

But what to do with the fallen then? His people had so many different funeral rites... Bodies could be burned, or buried, or slipped beneath the ice, their personal effects shipped home, perhaps to await their return. Even if the colonists here performed each perfectly, many would call it sacrilege, for the dead to be put to rest by aliens.

It was determined they would be stored in one of the empty prefabs, in a stasis room meant for fresh supplies, locked away from scavengers both animal and sentient. They could not risk the alien's good intentions being used as a weapon against them. He would have to arrange for a team from Aya to collect the bodies. Another painful thing to report to Evfra.

***

From the projection on his omni-tool, Evra's stern holographic countenance spoke. “Jaal, could the Pathfinder be manipulating you?”

“Yes. But,” he added, “she is not.”

They regarded each other with level stares. “I could not stand aside,” Jaal told his _kaaroan_. “Alien or not, they were civilians, threatened by a hostile force. I did what was I saw was right, and I am prepared to accept the consequences.”

Evfra studied him a long minute, then let out a heavy sigh. “Carry on, Jaal. Continue with your current assignment. I'll deal with the fallout.”

“Thank you, Evfra.”

The channel closed. A new messaged had arrived. A holorecording—from Akksul.

He contacted Ryder. Whatever Akksul had to say, he did not want to deal with it alone.

She was already at the meeting room when he arrived. Never any hesitation in her, when help was needed. Her hair was unbound again; each strand had a subtle curl to it, like thread remembering the shape of the spool. He admired her so dearly. Just being in her presence bolstered him, made him feel confident that together, they could handle anything.

She opened a comm. “Jaal, I'm in the meeting room. Ready when you are.”

“Right behind you, Ryder,” he said, walking to stand at the comms table beside her. “Pulling up the message.”

 _Jaal Ama Darav._ Akksul sneered his name. _You always were a shortsighted fool. Helping an outsider instead of your own people. You're unfit to bear your family's name._

The message ended. Simply a packet of insults.

“Okay, this guy is really starting to piss me off.”

“He always was a _vehshaanan_ ,” Jaal agreed.

“Vesh-a-what?” Masina asked.

“Someone pleased with his own shit.”

She laughed at that, long and freely.

“Mh, he's said similar things before,” Jaal explained. “I'm not sure this is his worst. When we were students, the Moshae paired us together. We've never gotten along.”

Masina smiled. “He’s just jealous.”

“Of what?”

“You’re the better man.”

He ducked his head, bashful. “Well...” he said, with a soft chuckle. “I am better looking.” He turned his mind back to the task at hand. “Akksul wants us to do something reckless,” he told her. “Let's not give him the satisfaction.”

 


	21. On Tongues

“You're sure this is okay?” Masina asked him as he fastened the mostly-finished rofjinn he was making for Liam around her shoulders. “Aren't rofjinn supposed to be really special?”

He examined the drape of the garment. Masina wasn't shaped exactly the same as Liam, but when you're crafting a garment for an entirely different species, some broad strokes were necessary. The fabric shimmered the same as his own rofjinn, but rather than sky blue with triskelions, it was a deep green patterned with interlocking sunbursts. “It doesn't have a name yet,” Jaal explained as he circled around her, pinning the fabric here and there. “So, it's okay.”

He stepped back, giving the rofjinn a critical eye. Gil might have been a better model for form, but Masina's coloration was a bit closer to Liam's. He wanted to make sure the color of the fabric would appropriately bring out the warmth of human eyes. He took in her face, her expression of amused bafflement, the sparkle in her eyes as she waited for him to explain. _Yes, that does nicely._

“The wearer's name is stitched in last, and is intended to be alterable, as a person's name changes throughout their life,” he explained, helping her remove the garment for him to make further adjustments. “Without a name, it's just cloth.”

“But with it stitched on, the rofjinn carries your name, so it's a representation of who you are?” she asked, coming to sit by his workbench as he laid out the fabric there. “So wearing someone else's rofjinn isn't done, because it would be wearing someone else's identity?”

“That is...most of the reason, yes.”

“What sort of—Wait, did you just thread the needle with your bioelectrics?

“Yes?” he answered.“The thread responds well to electrical fields.”

“That's cheating,” she said, delighted.

He chuckled, amused at her envious consternation. “You had other questions, about the rofjinn?”

“What sort of circumstances would cause someone's name to change?” she asked.

“When a couple commits themselves to each other, after a period of deliberation they will choose which family to primarily live with, and the new member will add that family to their name. Also, in cases of families merging or being founded, or individuals who have lost their family being adopted into a new one. The term for changing the stitching is _vesama tiue_ ”

“Tie-you-ay,” she echoed.

“ _Vesa_ means ‘change’ or ‘instability’ or sometimes ‘the unknown,’” he explained.

“And _vesaal_ , that’s _vesa_ again, right? Time of change? And it’s not a bad thing.”

“No,” he answered. “Though I’m told many disagreed when the lottery was established. Change is...not a bad thing. Or, I don’t believe it is.”

“But _vesagara_ is used as an insult. People who live as transients, like grass by the roadside.”

“That is a human saying?”

“Yes—specifically from my homeland though, the other humans won’t recognize it any more than you do.”

“Mm,” he nodded in understanding. “And, there is _vesoan.”_

“ _Ves-ow-ahn.”_ she said, exploring the shape of the syllables. “ _Ves-oh-an. Vesoan._ That’s a word people have used for me before.”

“Indeed. It means one who guides us through difficult times, to find something better.”

She looked shyly flattered. This pleased him.

“A pathfinder?” she asked.

“Yes, _onyae vesoanj.”_

She worked to piece what he’s said together. He waited, delighted. “ _Onyae_ …”

“My,” he prompted. It was like watching her unwrap a present.

“I thought _ona_ was my?” she asked.

“ _Ona_ is for things one has,” he explained. “ _Onyae_ is for people one is… connected to.”

“And _vesoan_ , explorer, but with an extra meaning stuck on the end. _Anj_ means anchored, right?”

“Not this time. When _anj_ is at the beginning of a word, it means…anchored, held fast. At the end it means… fascinating, alluring. Captivating.”

“ _Onyae vesoanj.”_ She blushed as she put the words together. _‘My captivating pathfinder.’_ “Jaal, is there any language you don’t sound pretty in?”

He ducked his head, a blush passing through his own field now. “Probably. I don’t imagine anyone could sound pretty in Tonaizhet.”

Tonaizhet was interpreted to mean simply 'correct speech.' The kett could not conceive of respecting any view different than their own.

“I wonder how you'd with Samoan,” she wondered aloud. She shook her head, pulling up some work on her omni-tool. “Probably just confuse you; you've got so much else you're trying to learn.”

He did not respond right away, considering her words as he stitched.

He remembered a recent exchange he had witnessed, where Liam's tendency towards ethnocentricity when explaining human history and customs had finally worn through Masina's patience. She had needled back at him poking holes in his generalizations rather than outright addressing her pain, until Liam finally confronted her about it.

“ _Why you always shitting on Britain?” Liam fumed. “Sure, the nation did some bad things in the past, and it wasn’t always easy for me to live there, but it’s my home. Why you gotta be like this?”_

“ _You want to know why?” Masina exclaimed. “You talk about home, you reminisce about your damn London. Everybody knows exactly what you’re talking about. Big Ben, sipping stolen tea, that fucking Ferris Wheel you’re all so proud of for some reason. London will never fucking be forgotten, as long as there’s humans here alive. There’s gonna be a New London, and a New Singapore, a New Vancouver, a… fucking New New York,” she declared, listing off human cities whose names even Jaal could recognize._

“ _...But there might not be a New Apia.”_

“ _I talk about my homeland, and it’s easier to share with Jaal than you guys. He doesn’t know what’s obscure, we’re all aliens to him.”_

“ _You don’t know taro, or panipopo, but I know about your damn crumpets.”_

_She declared something in her native language, resonant with emotion, furious, passionate and plaintive. “You know how many people in this galaxy can understand that? The translators don’t even know my language. If my brother doesn’t wake up, I am the **only one**. “_

“ _I know you miss your London, you’re homesick and it breaks your heart. But understand, from where I’m standing, you’ve got it damn easy.”_

She offered him her words. Little bits of a language, lost except for her. And he wanted to know it, to help her keep it alive, even as she treasured all she learned from him.

The language of Masina's homeland was the closest thing she had to a family dialect. If she were angara, such an offer would declare a deeper level of commitment between them, a seriousness about their bond. Though, she was not angara...

Still, her offer was kindness, sharing what she had with him, accepting whatever bits and pieces he could share with her.

“Perhaps,” he finally answered. She looked up from her omni-tool, searching for the thread of the conversation.

“Mh. Perhaps it would be ...confusing, or difficult,” he explained. “But, if you would like to share it with me, I would consider myself very fortunate.”

And, as for himself...to show a commitment to knowing his dear one better was quite alright with him.

She gave him such a warm look at that, a wave of affection that belied her lack of bioelectricity.

She was not angara, but... maybe it was the same.

Then her face clouded, as her eyes flicked back to something she'd read. She expressed her fears, that the Roekaar have killed other angara for far less than the affection and steadfast friendship he had shown her. “Not sure I'm worth the risk.” she said.

He did not honor such a thought with a direct response. He answered instead with a proposal.

“Masina... Mh. I have been telling my family about my time on the Tempest. About, you. I would like my family to meet you, at our home on Havarl.”

“You would? I—yeah. Yeah, I'd like that.” she said, an excitement appearing in her eyes as she processed the answer within his question.

“Yes!” He smiled, and set aside the rofjinn-in-progress. “My _vaasavaan_ , Sahuna, is especially curious about you,” he added, as he opened his own data feed device. “ I will arrange a vidcall as soon as possible. The data channels for personal communications are often crowded, but I will notify you as soon as I get through.”

 


	22. The Strength of Conviction

Masina hurried towards the tech lab, bouncing with excitement: Jaal had just messaged her that his call had gone through, and invited her up to join him and his mothers in planning their visit. _Have to see if we can reroute some communications through the Tempest QEC to the Nexus, then Pelaav, to make communications easier in the future. I'm sure we have some bandwidth to spare._

She hoped this visit meant what she thought it meant.

She stepped inside, and as the doors whooshed closed behind her, she realized something must have gone terribly wrong. Jaal was bent over, crouched, coiled as if to spring as he stared at the screen, brows drawn, serious—even angry.

 _What could possibly have thrown a wrench in our plans this time?_ she wondered.

“You, more than anyone, know how dangerous Akksul is,” a plaintive woman's voice came over the comms.

_Akksul has gotten in the way of my dinner date with my favorite angara and his family. Jaal was right, that man does make me want to kill him._

Jaal sighed, frustration in every line of his face. “Why were they allowed to speak with him?”

Masina stepped closer to hear, and to provide what support she could while still staying out of sight of the vidcall. Now did not seem the time for introductions.

A second voice spoke, older, wiser. Possibly a senior mother? “They aren’t children anymore. We can’t control their every move. You remember how you were.”

“ _Please_ , Jaal,” the first voice begged.

He bowed his head. _He looks so done,_ she thought. Masina could see the burden settling on his shoulders, one more weight for him to bear.

With a resigned sigh, he agreed. “I’ll bring them home.”

She came up behind him as the vidcall ended. “Something’s gone wrong, hasn’t it?” she asked, with a comforting hand on his shoulder and a look of concern.

He nodded, his voice heavy. “Three of my brothers and sisters…have joined the Roekaar.” He rushed through the last words, as if he couldn't bear to have them linger on his tongue. He stood, emotions too high for stillness, and paced past her. “Akksul has _poisoned_ them with his hatred of aliens.”

“And your mothers want you to bring them back,” she concluded.

He turned to her. “The Roekaar have made camp at the Forge. Many consider it the birthplace of our civilization. Akksul likely believes this bold move will create more fanatics for his cause.” His fury shifted then, into something else, something much more vulnerable, scared, almost pleading.

“Ryder, he has my _family_ …but I don’t think I can do this alone.”

 _As if you would ever need--_ “You don’t have to,” she declared, stepping closer. “Just tell me the time and place. I’m with you.”

Jaa's relief was palpable even to someone EM-blind as her.

“We’ll set course right away to--”

He was suddenly very close to her, his relieved sigh fading into what might have been a whisper of laughter. He looked for a moment like he’d like nothing better than to scoop her up in a hug, but then pulled back at the last moment, probably unsure if the gesture would be appropriate.

“Havarl,” he told her. “Landing at Daar Pelaav would be most…discreet.”

“Right. And Jaal…” She closed the gap between them with a tight hug, sunsilk of his rofjinn flowing under her arms like water. He started for a moment, then returned her hug fiercely, engulfing her in his own embrace, his cheek resting on her hair.

“We’ll get them back,” she said, mostly into his chest, trying to give him a little squeeze. The rofjinn was surprisingly slippery.

He drew back with a relieved little laugh, studying her fondly. “No hesitation,” he said. “That is what I love about you.” Before she could even begin to process how his words had just scrambled her brain, he stepped away, pulling up his omni-tool. “I have a contact who’s been monitoring the Roekaar,” he said. “I’ll set up a rendezvous with her. How soon before we can set course for Havarl?”

_Right: practical mode, Masina. There'll be time later to sort through cross-translations of **exactly** what he just said to me. Right now, we've got people to rescue._

She opened the ship comms. “Kallo, change of plans. Point us towards Havarl, and punch it as hard as you can.”

***

The research outpost was looking distinctly more healthy since they had activated the vault, the repaired angaran architecture again flowing with the nature around it, rather than fighting it.

They met Jaal's contact, a pilot named Avka, at one of Pelaav's remaining shuttle pads. She gives them a rundown on the state of the Forge.

“Jaal!” the pilot greeted him warmly. “You made it!”

Jaal completed the angaran greeting with her, wrist-to-bicep. “Avka. Any word on Teviint, and the others?”

“No,” Avka answered. “All traffic and communication from the Forge have stopped. It’s under Akksul’s control now. My shuttle can drop you nearby, but that’s about all I can do.”

“We’ll keep a low profile,” Jaal said. “With luck, we will find my siblings without raising an alarm.”

They had plotted out their strategy for extracting Jaal's siblings as they flew towards Havarl. It would be just the two of them, relying on stealth and the occasional hack. They would go in nonviolent, nonlethal, as much as possible, despite the Roekaar’s insistence on trying to kill them.

A tactical cloak was added to her gear loadout, with modifications provided by Jaal to obscure her EM signature while it was active. SAM also did a little bit of work on her muscle memory, cheating her through the years of training and practice it would normally take to become an infiltrator capable of keeping up with Jaal. The process of cloaking and moving about invisibly still felt very unnatural, but her body knew the patterns now.

They boarded the shuttle, Avka sailing them east over the twilight forest, chasing the edge of the eclipse lighting the sky in the distance. The Forge was half a continent away, and would be out from under Uusarl's shadow.

Masina studied the land unfolding beneath them. The damage wrought by the unbalanced vault was still apparent, but the forest was showing clear signs of healing.

She asked about the siblings they were here to rescue.

“Teviint and Lethoul are littermates, very young,” Jaal told her, as he watched the forest beside her. “Teviint is adventurous, passionate. Lethoul gregarious and agreeable, likely to follow wherever his sister led. Baranjj is… a little older. After his true mother was…lost, to the kett, Feladyr, our eldest mother, and he became very close.” Jaal sighed. “He should have taken care of the other two, kept them away from trouble like this.”

“What did…Fel-a-deer…”

“Feladyr.”

“Feladyer. Felahdyr. Feladyr,” Masina said, trying to memorize shape of the name. “What did she mean when she told you to remember how you were at their age? You ever run off and do something like this?”

“No. _I_ pursued a place among the students of the Moshae. It…” He sighed. “Maybe it _was_ like this.”

As they grew closer to the Forge, the landscape below them changed. The shuttle flew confidently through fogbanks, winding between tall mountain peaks. Where Pelaav was wild and chaotic, this part of Havarl was…majestic. Sacred.

“Jaal…” she finally said. “You sure you want me here? Bringing an outsider…”

“Will give the Roekaar a different perspective,” Jaal said firmly. “Just follow my lead. We’ll get my family back.”

“I'm with you.”

He looked at her, his expression one of deep appreciation.

“I know.”

***

For their final approach Avka nearly glided the shuttle in, running on antigrav alone for the last click or so. They were dropped off in a canyon just wide enough for the shuttle.

 _Alright,_ she thought, as her boots hit the mud. _Time to get our sneak on_.

She noted again how well Jaal blended into the environment here. The colors that seemed so bright and eye-catching on the Tempest were perfect camouflage among the vivid and luminous plants of Havarl.

“Where do we even start?” she asked.

“The Moshae brings all her students to the Forge. I know my way around,” he replied, carefully lifting the ferns out of the way. “The govataan--a welcome center--is up ahead. I expect it will be filled with travelers. We may be able to learn more from the research teams staying there.”

“Is the Forge mostly an archaeological site?”

“Yes, and no,” he answered. “It is one of the few ruins that predates the Scourge. A last bastion of our history. Most angara visit the Forge at least once in their lives, either for the tradition or to share knowledge.”

“Which did you visit for?” she asked.

“A bit of both. This way, along the stream.”

They moved closer through the jungle, the stream masking the small noises of their passage.

“Softly now,” he murmured. “The govataan is just ahead.”

“Jaal,” she whispered back, “it seems awful quiet.”

They crept through the last few meters of underbrush. The view of the govataan spread out below them: a circle of structures built into the walls of the canyon, surrounding a courtyard of glowing plant life. But something was missing.

“It’s…deserted,” Jaal said. He dropped down into the clearing.

“Avka did say no traffic was coming in…or out,” she said, scrambling down behind him. She stilled, listening for any signs of life, but all she could hear was the murmur of the stream.“Jaal, I don’t like this.”

“I don’t either.”

Together, they explored the govataan, moving carefully from structure to structure. They found audio logs, researching unique Forge plants and ancient construction techniques, artifacts and samples abandoned. And, eventually, vivid blue bloodstains smeared across the floor.

“Blood is maybe a week old.” Masina said, closing her scanner and moving to examine the rest of the room. “No bullet marks in the walls or broken furniture. However this blood got spilled, it was fast--not an extended fight.”

“There should never have been fighting here.” Jaal declared. “This is a sacred place, meant for all angara.”

One of the terminals was open, still waiting for input. She looked for recently accessed files, and found the journal of one of the researchers. “It says here they needed supplies to progress on their research,” she told Jaal. “More than the Resistance could spare.”

“Aya and the Resistance go to great lengths to keep this place well supplied,” Jaal explained, “To lose it to the kett…would be a great blow.” He stood behind her, reading over her shoulder.

“Apparently some of the researchers thought it still wasn’t enough, so the person in charge of the site, this Droka Sidyr, reached out to Akksul as the fellow researcher he used to be. He came, and the Roekaar came with him.”

 _Everyone’s so enamored with Akksul,_ the last entry read. _You’d think he was the Moshae. I told Droka to make him leave, but she said that all angara are welcome at the Forge. Especially one trying to protect our culture._

“Hmph,” Jaal scoffed. “Protection. Is that what he promised?”

***

“This is a…common area?” Masina wondered, stepping over an overturned crate. “Looks like they left in a hurry.”

Jaal searched through another terminal, activating an audio log from one of the researchers for her to hear.

_One of the Roekaar left a slice of fresh elmohk at my station. I tried to thank him, but he wouldn’t say two words to me. I think they’ve been ordered not to become friendly with us._

“Lethoul, my brother, loves elmohk,” Jaal said, his voice rumbling with fondness for his sibling. “It’s his favorite.”

“Think he’s the one who brought it to her?” she asked.

“Mmph, maybe. But the rest doesn’t sound like him—Lethoul is _very_ talkative.”

“Orders not to get too friendly...” Masina considered. “Sounds like Akksul planned to…whatever happened to the researchers all along.”

***

They moved deeper, beyond the main hub of the govataan. Masina motioned for Jaal to be still.

“You hear that?” she whispered.

Jaal paused, listening. “Yes, over the loudspeaker. Akksul’s voice. And his latest rhetoric.”

As they crept closer, the words became more clear.

_...Milky Way aliens are just as lethal as the kett. Their false manner is a trick, to lure you in, to make you feel comfortable. For every kind act…_

“He really does like to hear himself talk,” said Masina.

Jaal nodded, giving her an eyebrows-raised, long-suffering you-have-no idea sort of look.

… _at this moment, even Aya is in peril of falling to the Milky Way menace._

“The Moshae once thought he would be her successor,” Jaal murmured.

 _Her heir,_ Masina remembered. _Her_ _ **son**_ _._

“He loves to talk,” Jaal continued, “and is gifted in making people listen. Whether he considers the impact of his words is another matter.”

Even as he explained, she could see his frustration, and his fear for his siblings. The two men sounded like complete opposites, Akksul loud and arrogant, Jaal humble, thoughtful, considering every word he spoke. _The better man indeed._

***

They moved ahead, Jaal taking point, Masina watching his back. He opened the last door in this section of the govataan, to find himself facing a pair of Roekaar guards.

“I thought you got them all!” one shouted.

“I did,” the other replied. “He must’ve come back through the forest.”

“Wait,” the first spat, hefting her gun, “you’re no researcher. You’re Resistance scum.”

Jaal raised a hand in a placating gesture. The two lowered their weapons.

“I’m not here as a member of the Resistance,” Jaal explained. “I have siblings among your forces, and I need to speak with them.”

“No, you need to leave; the Forge is under Roekaar protection. Nobody goes in.”

“My friend and I will not leave until I have spoken with—“

“Your friend?”

“It’s an alien! He brought it here! Kill them!”

The Roekaar recruits raised their rifles. Jaal ducked to cover beside her. It was too late to use their cloaks. She saw his expression twist, as he resigned himself to killing yet more of Akksul’s followers.

His anguish forced her to move first, and strongly. Her biotics flared, as she pulled out a trick learned long ago and rarely practiced.

The Roekaar froze, their skin lined with light. Not a muscle moved, not an eye blinked.

Jaal stopped, staring at them in wonder.

“Hurry Jaal,” she said, strained. “I can’t hold the field for long.”

They slipped past the frozen recruits and further down the hallway to cover.

“Stasis field, she explained at his inquiring look, hissing the words through her clenched teeth. “They’ll wake up when I let go.”

They took shelter in a storage room well past the frozen recruits. She gratefully released the field, and listened to the baffled Roekaar's reaction.

“What... Where did they go?”

“They disappeared...”

“They must have hidden in the govetaan. Come on, we must find them!”

She leaned back against the crates, smiling at the sound of the structure door closing as the guards hurried outside to find the vanishing alien. She turned, to see Jaal studying her intensely.

“I…did not know you could do that,” he murmured, looking nearly as startled as the Roekaar.

“No reason to use it against the kett,” she replied, clenching and unclenching the strained muscles in her arm, trying to relieve pressure on twinging neural nodes. “I’m not very good at it—my brother’s much better.”

Jaal considered that for a moment, as though recalculating his strategies, then nodded. “They are so young. I am thankful to not have to kill them, but--” He paused, as an alarm began to while through the complex. “But, that will not stop them from trying to kill us. Be careful, dear one.”

***

They crept deeper into the complex, using cloaks or temporary stasis fields to pass Roekaar patrols unseen as they darted from building to abandoned building.

Masina took in the interior of their latest haven. “Living quarters for the archaeologists?” she wondered in a whisper, thankful that angaran hearing was likely too weak to pick up the sound of their squad comms.

“Yes,” Jaal replied, examining a stack of crushed sample plates grimly. “Though the Roekaar have obviously made themselves at home.”

Another terminal, hidden behind a stack of discarded research equipment—and a hastily written message. _Akksul claims we must leave the Forge for our own safety. Brogahn and a few others resisted. The Roekaar knocked them out, then forced them onto the ship._ The rest of the message was a list of research projects the writer had managed to preserve or stabilize in anticipation of being forced to leave as well.

“This explains the signs of fighting,” she murmured, stepping aside to let Jaal upload what research data he could. Hopefully the data could be reunited with the scientists who has labored over it.

They activated their cloaks as another patrol hurried by, Roekaar recruits shouting to each other about presenting Akksul with the corpse of a dead alien.

They moved on.

SAM assisted them with locking and unlocking doors, occasionally inserting false sensor readings into the network to clear Roekaar from their path. They searched for patrol logs, anything that might help them find Jaal's siblings. SAM was able to locate a list of current patrol assignments, which showed the trio were stationed in the ruins proper, but there was no telling how the assignments might have been shuffled since the alarm was raised.

And everywhere, Akksul's voice followed them, spouting his vicious rhetoric from every loudspeaker.

“After everything we’ve done,” she murmured, as they passed another blaring speaker. “He still hates us so much.”

“You have brought change,” Jaal replied. “Akksul fears that change.” He paused, orienting himself in the tangle of research buildings. “Here,” he said. “This is the way to the bridge that will take us into the ruins. Be cautious. They know we are here, somewhere. We must expect countermeasures.”

***

They approached the bridge. Masina took a moment to admire the beauty of the clearly ancient structure, gleaming in the day's waning light. To have stood so long, seen so much…

A pop echoed through the canyon, with a burst of smoke on the bridge. And another. And another. A cascade of demolition charges took apart in a moment what had stood since the angara began.

Behind her, Jaal made a… frankly terrifying, painful sound, a scream of rage held back through his teeth. It made the hair on the back of her neck stand up to hear him make such a noise.

She turned, and laid a hand on his shoulder to steady him. He was clearly upset, grieved and outraged that Akksul and his followers would destroy this proud and ancient piece of angara history so rashly. He took a moment, caught his breath. She crept to the edge of the cliff, examining the gulf between them and the ruins.

“We’ll have to…jump down,” Jaal said, voice still raw. “There are ledges. We can use…”

“Sniper!” she cried, as shots rang out from the far cliff. They ducked under cover together, backs to the stone, trying to determine their next move.

“There's a path,” Jaal huffed, “lower down on the other cliffs, that leads into the ruins.”

“Could we jump?” Masina suggested. She ducked down further, as a shot ricocheted off the stones that granted them cover, spraying them with rock chips.

“They’ll pick us off before we can get halfway down.” Jaal replied.

Masina was considering suggesting lethal force when Jaal, who knew just enough about how biotics worked to be dangerous, suggested something completely insane, and utterly brilliant.

“Masina,” he asked. “Could... could you make a channel, like you do in a biotic charge, to pull us both across? If it is possible, I expect the snipers on the far ledge wouldn't have time to react, or even know what they saw.”

She considered. It seemed crazy, but maybe... _SAM, can you help me with the fine-tuning? We've only got one shot at this, and I don't want to leave any parts of us behind._

“ _Affirmative, Masina.”_

“Alright, let's try it,” she told him. “Here, we'll need to be a little tighter than when I showed you in the cargo bay.” She wrapped her arms around him as bullets flew overhead, holding him close, envisioning. _Two shadows as one, don't miss his rofjinn this time, a silhouette on the fabric of spacetime. Heavy is a weight before us and a lightness behind, a needle stitching through the fabric of the universe, connecting one point to another._ She held all this tightly in her mind, and flared.

_Go._

And they were across, stumbling, tripping, falling onto the ferns safe and sound. She lay there a moment, wiggling fingers and toes to make sure they were all there, glancing over at Jaal to ensure her special angara was similarly unhurt. Jaal stood, and shivered, wearing an expression of vehement distaste.

“Take it that didn't feel like 'light on the water' or whatever this time around?” she asked.

“Like hundreds of little insects, crawling across me everywhere.” Jaal said, making urgent efforts to brush himself off. “I never want to do that again, unless it is utterly unavoidable.”

***

They traveled a winding route through the abandoned dig sites, sheltering behind equipment together on the edge of the cliffside as patrols passed them by. Even in their hiding, Masina couldn't help but take in the scenery of the Forge and surrounding valleys unfolding below them.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered to him, taking in the view.

“I always meant to bring you here,” he said softly, “just… not under these circumstances.”

“What do you think this place was, before the Scourge?” she asked as they crept up to the next dig site.

“Everyone’s got a theory. The Moshae believes it was a monument of sorts.”

“And what do _you_ —“

Gunfire. They’d been spotted. They got back under cover, creeping up the ridge. She could hear the Roekaar shouting commands to each other from the ridge above.

 _Ogling the scenery_ _ **will**_ _be the death of me,_ she thought. “I can stasis them if—“

“Wait,” Jaal said, motioning to her. “I know those voices!” aal holstered his weapon and stood, shouting the names of his siblings, hands raised to show he meant no harm.

Shouts of recognition came from above, the Roekaar calling Jaal's name in return, figures jumping over the barricades to greet him.

It was rare to see Jaal throw a punch, but she couldn’t deny it felt appropriate. One, two blows for all the worry they had caused, and a tight embrace for how grateful he was to find them unharmed.

“Baranjj,” Jaal said. “Our mothers sent me.”

“All of them?” the man asked. “Why?”

“Because we’ve lost enough to the kett. They’re afraid to lose you to this insane cause.”

“But, Jaal…” Baranjj shook his head.

“Did our mothers send this _human_ too?” The woman, who could only be Teviint, suddenly loomed over Masina, gun in hand, so close her breath could have fogged the glass of Masina's helmet. In a way, it was startlingly reminiscent of Jaal's initial reaction to her, the day she landed on Aya.

Masina met Teviint's gaze. “Would you rather Jaal had come to find you without anyone to watch his back?” she asked.

Teviint studied her intensely. But where Jaal had met her honesty with humor, Teviint had only scorn and derision.

“Your people are a joke,” she spat.

“Teviint, please...” Jaal implored.

His sister brusquely pushed aside the third sibling to skulk in the back of the group.

“This is my friend, Masina.” Jaal explained. He took her arm and pulled her into the circle of their conversation. “I want you to meet her, so you can see that Akksul is wrong.”

Masina took off her helmet. _Everyone feels a little less alien face-to-face._

“The Initiative doesn’t want to fight, or to take anything from the angara. We want to get along, and we can work together to--”

“Who cares?” Baranjj snapped, turning back to Jaal

“The angara don’t want anything you have,” Teviint hissed at her.

“We don’t need you,” Baranjj snapped on the heels of his sister's words. Two voices spouting one stream of propaganda.

“Jaal, our mothers want us to live truthfully.”

“It is because I love my mothers that I will die for this cause.”

Lethoul, who had been hovering in the background, abruptly pushed between his siblings to speak.

“Akksul is going to blow this place up!”

“Lethoul!” Tevint cried, outraged.

“That’s why he sent the researchers away,” Lethoul continued.

“Stop. Talking.” Tevint ordered, her voice deadly serious.

“He has bombs,” Lethoul declared, turning to Ryder. “Stolen from your people.”

 _If those bombs go off, it’ll look like the Initiative did it._ She glanced at Jaal, and saw her own concerns mirrored in his expression.

“We have to disarm them,” Jaal said.

“I can get you into the ruins,” Lethoul told them. “I’ll take you—“

A gunshot rang out, loud and immediate. Lethoul crumpled into them. Ryder dropped her helmet, trying to cast a barrier over the injured angara and support his weight.

She heard the sound of a pistol being dropped, and Teviint and Baranjj fleeing. Jaal called after them.

“No, no, no, no,” Lethoul called, his voice shaking with pain. “The bombs. In the Forge.”

The wound was bad: a ragged hole in the lower back deep into the gut, barely missing the spine. Angaran armorweave was designed for diffusing plasma bolts, not heavy pistol blasts. Masina put pressure on the wound, trying her best to hold it closed. _Blood loss, internal bleeding, perforated gut, sepsis,_ she thought. Cataloging all the ways Jaal's little brother could die today, if they didn't act quickly.

Moments spent here might mean the fleeing siblings would warn Akksul, and set off the bombs preemptively, but she wasn't willing to let Lethoul die for 'might.'

Jaal worked to treat his brother's wound, using the product of their people's collaborations: medigel, adapted to angaran physiology. The adapted medigel should be able to knit the gut back together and contain the potential infection. Jaal emptied the applicator from his kit, murmuring soothing reassurance to his brother.

“I’m okay, Jaal. I’ll be fine,” Lethoul said weakly. He was not terribly convincing.

His pupils were blown wide with shock, each erratic glance reflecting the light of the sunset. And there was still so much turquoise seeping between her fingers.

“Jaal, the medkit on my belt, center right.”

One spare hybrid medigel applicator. filled with the precious substance designed to knit an injured angara back together. The applicator was slippery in her grip as she tried to keep pressure on the wound, azure blood leaking through her fingers. “This was all I could bring.” She gave Jaal a stern look, as the medigel drained from the reservoir. “Jaal. You can _not_ get hurt now. Okay?”

The last pack finally staunched the bleeding. Lethoul was in a haze from blood loss, but scans showed he was stable--the hybrid gel had done its magic.

“You hang tight here,” Masina told him. _Dammnit, that's colloquial,_ she thought. But Lethoul seemed to understand, as much as he could in this state. “We’ll be back for you," she added. "You gonna be alright?”

Lethoul nodded. “I hate Akksul—don’t let him win.”

She recovered her helmet from where it had fallen, and grimaced. The inner filters were covered with mud. No time to clean it now. She stuck it next to Lethoul. “Anybody asks, tell them you killed me for it or something, okay?” He gave her a weak smile, and nodded.

Masina glanced down at herself, realizing that her gloves were literally stained with angaran blood. _Not the best first impression._ She wiped it off as best she could—which wasn't much—and laid a comforting hand on Jaal’s shoulder a moment as they headed forward, clambering through the caves.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“No.” Jaal sighed. “I’m glad you’re here. If Akksul’s willing to blow up the Forge, there’s nothing he won’t do. Ryder, if he shows up...”

“I know. Follow your lead. I’m with you.”

“ _Ryder, I have detected automated safety alerts from four Jormangund T2021A mining charges; countdowns have been initiated in the local vicinity. The alert advises all personnel to evacuate the area.”_

 _This place is crawling with Roekaar,_ Masina replied. _SAM, if we mess this up, how big will the blast radius be?_

“ _It would be best to avoid that, Pathfinder,”_ SAM stated. _“The T2021A is designed for heavy asteroid mining, and is rated to reliably split space objects up to to two kilometers in diameter.”_

_Damn. And they've activated four of them? They'll annihilate this place, blow the top off the mountain and rain it back down on everything for miles around._

_Akksul’s going to martyr himself here, and all these kids he’s recruited with him. We have to stop him._

“ _Fortunately, mining charges are designed with significantly more failsafes than military warheads,”_ SAM added, sending defusing instructions to her and Jaal. Deactivating the bombs would be fairly simple: disconnect the catalyst and run a small charge through it, rendering it inert.

 

The confrontation at the heart of the Forge was a scramble, the two of them hiding in the shadows, Ryder moving Roekaar with biotics, trying to keep them from forcing her to hurt them even now. Aiming to stun, to stasis, to save.

They two took a scant moment to breathe, as SAM confirmed the mining charges were all inert. The Forge, and all those within, were no longer in imminent danger.

“Jaal!” A tearful, distraught Teviint appeared. “I killed Lethoul. I killed him!” She rushed to Jaal, laying her head on his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

Jaal looked down at his sister, making no move to comfort her. “He’s not dead. You’re lucky.”

She looked up at him, straightening. “I lost my mind, Jaal. I want to go home.”

Baranjj, coming up behind her, spoke. “But, the cause…I joined because of you.”

“I _shot our brother_ ,” she exclaimed.

Baranjj looked lost. “Don’t leave me—“

“Let her go,” A new voice declared, the same voice that had been spilling out of every loudspeaker.

 _Akksul._ _Bright and sunshiney as ever_.

He strode into the clearing, building his command into a speech. “I only want soldiers who are _committed_ to our cause. Not _weaklings_ ,” he continued with a pointed stare at Jaal beside her, “who stand by and watch the destruction of our people at the hands of aliens!”

And so they stood, Jaal flanked on one side by Masina, the other by Teviint. Masina saw motion on the upper ledges--dozens of Roekaar were filing in, all heavily armed, all watching them.

His words dug at her. To call Jaal weak, after all he had risked to pull his siblings out of danger—danger Akksul put them in.“You recruit kids and make them fight their family,” she accused. “It's _sick_. And so are you.”

“I speak for our people!” Akksul declared, drawing closer. “And I say... you’re done in Heleus.” He threw his arm out towards her as he spoke, the motion she had seen a dozen times for casting a bolt of electricity.

Her biotics flared to try and respond to the attack—but no blow came. He had feinted. Trying to goad her into a counterattack.

“Ryder, don’t,” Jaal said softly, urgently.

Akksul lowered his hand, chuckling at her. “Martyr me. Please. I dare you.”

 _His bioelectrics are damaged,_ she remembered. _He couldn't electrocute me if he tried. They can all feel it, every one of them can sense it but me. And he knew that,_ _ **used**_ _that, to try and manipulate me._

Through sheer force of will, she forced her biotics to dissipate. _C_ _an’t disappoint Jaal. He did warn me about this piece of work_.

“You know,” she told Akksul with an infuriatingly calm smile, “you really shouldn’t leave live explosives just lying around like that. Someone could get hurt.” She held his gaze. “You've got a very odd way of protecting this place.”

He looked…disappointed. And infuriated. He turned his back to her, facing the troops above.

“They move onto our planets. They take our resources. Make us _weak_.”

 _More oratory,_ she thought. _Would he ever tire of hearing himself--_

“I’ve watched Ryder make planets _habitable,”_ Jaal declared. The eyes of the Roekaar above turned to her beloved angara.

“Exactly,” Akksul replied. “And they’ll never let us forget—“

Jaal interrupted, not giving Akksul room to dominate. “She rescued our beloved Moshae.”

 _All it takes is one voice rising up._ She was proud of him, and terrified for him.

“I know…” Akksul stumbled.

“Saved her life.”

“I know!” Akksul cried. “Stop defending them.”

“The Moshae trusts Ryder,” Jaal declared. “And so do I.”

“This man,” Akksul said, fighting to regain his momentum. “This _Resistance_ soldier, stood against us on Eos. He fought against his own people for the sake of these invaders!”

“That settlement is filled with civilians, farmers and technicians, researchers: _families_ ,” Jaal's gaze was steady, his voice resonant with emotion.”There are children there! Would you have killed them, Akksul?”

The Roekaar leader didn't appear to have a comeback for that. He looked panicked.

“Was that your plan?” Jaal thundered. “To send angaran soldiers, your mighty Roekaar, to cut down _children_ over the corpses of their parents? That is _not who we_ —“

“Stop talking!” Akksul shouted, drawing a pistol.

 _Ushior,_ she remembered the name of the weapon _. Means resonance, the impact of one's actions._

The random tidbit of knowledge gave her no power to change the fact the gun was pointed straight at Jaal.

“Easy…” Jaal said softly, hands raised in a soothing gesture.

“We’ve been fighting the wrong enemy,” Akksul spat. “The real enemy is this _traitor._ ”

“Hey!” Masina shouted, trying to draw the unstable leader's attention. “You want to point a gun at someone, you point it at me! The _alien space witch_ , not the unarmed angara.”

But Akksul didn't take the bait, though his hands were shaking badly.

She let her amp charge, just a bit. A question her companion could feel. _Maybe I could--_ “Jaal?”

“Don’t.” Jaal hushed her. He addressed Akksul, speaking so very calmly. “You have become a danger to your own people. Walk away.”

“Or, I kill you and reveal the Resistance for the traitors they are!”

The half-second the bullet hung in the air, streaking towards Jaal, was quite possibly the longest moment of her life.

She wrenched her biotics to the fore, trying to warp the bullet away, to force her barrier up and around him, to do anything, but everything moved slowly, so slowly, during the bullet's flight.

She rushed, yanked herself through reality to his side. To shield him--or to hold him as he crumpled.

Had it been too little, too late?

His heavy hand settled on her shoulder.

She looked up, into his deep blue eyes. His cheek was marked--only a graze.

He was alive.

The mood in the room had chilled. Akksul looked up as the young angara in the galleries above began to disperse, disgust and shame on their faces.

“The alien is not the monster here.” Jaal stated, with calm conviction, and no small amount of compassion.

Akksul stared after them, as his followers filed away. He stood lost for words, a man whose world has just slipped from his grasp. “I…love my people…” Akksul said, perhaps for himself; there were few others to listen. A broken orator with no audience.

“Come on,” Jaal said to his siblings. “Let’s get you home.”

 


	23. Healing

The shuttle was able to land within the Forge; the Roekaar forces no longer showed any interest in defending it. Baranjj was still wary of Masina, keeping his distance. Teviint was in emotional shock, and the painkillers they had given Lethoul from Roekaar supplies helped get him to the shuttle but had left him heavily sedated.

Teviint sat on the shuttle floor between the feet of Jaal and Lethoul, her shame appearing to war with her need for physical contact in her distress. Jaal seemed to be ignoring her, busying himself with contacting the mothers to meet them at Daar Pelaav and checking on Lethoul’s injuries. The youngest of the siblings remained stable, though the treatment of his wound has made him very groggy. Baranjj had settled in a corner of the shuttle, stuck in his own thoughts. Notably, he was as far away from Ryder as the shuttle allowed.

Jaal turned to her.

“Masina,” he rumbled. “The charge from your amp is…arcing, around your shoulder, and the flow of energy there feels…erratic. Are you alright?”

 _He’s had so much to worry about today,_ she thought. _Couldn’t I just tell him I’m fine?_

_Am I really gonna pick today of all days to start keeping things from him? And after the lengths he has gone through to prove to these three that I’m trustworthy?_

_No, just tell him, Masina. Let him have a turn to fuss._

“No, but Lexi can fix it.”

Jaal's piercingly inquisitive look demanded elaboration.

“When he fired at you, I didn’t have time to charge up properly, so I kinda rushed it,” she explained. She wiggled a few fingers under her pauldron to massage the afflicted shoulder. “I strained myself, pulled some things out of alignment. I was in such a hurry to pull my barrier in front of you, I pulled the whole node with it. I've got a little bit of amp torsion, probably some neural burns there around the joint. I don’t know if my dramatics did any good. Not sure if I deflected the shot or not. His hands were shaking so badly, he might have missed anyway.”

“You didn’t say anything about having been injured,” he said, his voice absolutely dripping with concern.

“Can’t really field dress an amped node that’s out of alignment. Lexi can pop everything back into place before it gets too bad. It was worth it, to make sure you can keep on having a face.”

He rumbled indistinctly. “You are making light of your own injury.”

She scoffed, waving his words away. “Oh shut up. Besides, you got the prettier scar.”

“I saw,” Teviint said from her seat on the floor. Her voice sounded hollow, dazed. “When he fired—Jaal, he wanted you to die. Akksul wanted you to die.”

Teviint looked from Ryder to Jaal, dazed and tearful. Her gaze came to rest on the unconscious Lethoul. She spoke, the words dropping out of her mouth slowly and mechanically. “Akksul... I trusted him, followed him, and he would have murdered my brother.”

Masina thought of what might have happened had Akksul's shot not missed, before she could stop herself. The image of Jaal crumpling to the ground, his gentle face a blue ruin. She pushed the painful thought away. _That didn’t happen. We’re a team, we look out for each other._

Sometime, when Baranjj wasn’t staring daggers at her, she was going to tell Jaal exactly how frightened she’d been for him, how relieved she was he hadn’t died. Sometime soon.

But right now, this kid was tearing herself apart.

“And I nearly did the same,” Teviint sobbed. “His words were in my head, about being strong for our people, stronger than the Resistance, how we had no room for those who stood in the way of our cause—how they were almost as bad as the aliens.” Ryder saw tears running down her face. “I tried to kill my littermate. We’ve never done anything apart our whole lives, and I turned against him. I had become convinced that wrong was right.”

Abruptly, Masina sat down next to Teviint, by Jaal’s feet. She couldn't stand not helping, not comforting in some way. The others were a bit surprised, Teviint most of all. “Hey.” She ventured a comforting hand onto Teviint’s shoulder. “Listen. Akksul was very persuasive. I heard his speeches over the loudspeakers when we were looking for you,” Masina said gently. Teviint focused on her, receptive, hungry for new words to follow.

“Hearing that all day, every day?” Masina grined ruefully. “Even _I_ might be convinced that my people are nothing but trouble.”

Jaal was quiet at first, still working through his own feelings of betrayal at Teviint's earlier actions, but eventually the mentor in him rose to the fore. The two of them worked together, gently, to help Teviint process the events of the day.

“Lethoul is alive,” Jaal concluded, “and you can learn from this.”

“And maybe don’t trust somebody who can’t stand for their opinions to be questioned,” Masina added.

“Can you?” Teviint asked, in that delightfully blunt angaran way.

“Psh, everybody questions my opinions,” Masina laughed. “You should see our crew meetings.”

“ _An update”_ SAM said on her private channel. She put a hand to her ear; signaling that she was receiving a call to the siblings watching her was easier than explaining she was talking to the AI implanted in her brain.

_Yeah, SAM? What is it?_

“ _Repairs on the kett transponder utilized by Vehn Terev are complete, and decryption assistance has been successful, with use of codes provided by Resistance intelligence. A caveat: the encryption code appears to be near expiration.”_

She exchanged a glance with Jaal. “SAM's finished the decryption we were waiting on,” she explained, mindful of their audience. “But the code could change any time now.”

Jaal nodded. “We will need to act quickly.” Though his response did not surprise her, it still impressed her. For all that he had been through today, he remained focused.

“ _Prompt use of the device would be prudent in order to successfully triangulate the position of the Verakan.”_ SAM agreed. _“The Tempest is prepared to launch immediately on your return.”_

The shuttle rocked as they brushed the edges of a storm system. They were still some distance from Pelaav. When the turbulence ceased, Teviint, now notably calmer than before, spoke.

“Will the researchers come back, now that everyone’s leaving?” Teviint asked her.

“I hope so.”

“They are tenacious.” Jaal told them. “They will not give up on the Forge so easily.”

“I wonder what supplies they needed to complete their research,” Masina pondered. “We don’t have much in the way of raw materials to spare, but maybe schematics for equipment…”

Baranjj spoke up, for the first time since Akksul’s shaming. “We don’t _want_ your help!”

“Baranjj!” Jaal chided. “Ryder has helped us, came willingly to help me find you!”

“At what cost?” Baranjj exclaimed. “There is always a cost! You, alien, you saved my brother’s life—will you try to lay claim to him now? A debt, obligation, to get what you want!”

“Ryder is my friend,” Jaal argued. “I—“

“Maybe I just wanted to help because it was right!” Masina declared.

“BARAN—Ughk.” Lethoul's breath hitched, wincing from the pain of trying to yell. Everyone quieted. Lethoul took a careful, labored breath. “Skutting stars, shut up.”

Jaal, Masina, and Teviint each turned to support Lethoul. Over the injured sibling's head, Jaal leveled a stern glance at Baranjj. “I think we’ve all had enough war for today.”

Teviint gathered Lethoul's hands into her own. “I’m so sorry Lethoul. I never…”

“Couldn’t even kill me at short range.” Lethoul chuckled. He was clearly still in pain, and a bit groggy from the medpack, but his good humor was strong.

“Lethoul,” Jaal said. “I’m glad you are awake. How are you feeling?”

“Don’t want anyone make me shout again, but… decent.” Lethoul looked to Teviint. “Alien’s right, _yalaon_. But, if you’re _really_ so aggrieved...Maybe you can get me some elmohk?”

Teviint gave him a little smile. “I think I can do that.”

“You did a brave thing back there,” Jaal told Lethoul. “We wouldn’t have been able to save the Forge without you.”

Lethoul noticed the graze mark trailing across Jaal's cheek. “I thought she told you not to get hurt?” he teased, gesturing to Masina. Jaal waved away his comment fondly.

As the flight went on, Lethoul became more and more awake and alert. Jaal had not been untruthful to describe Lethoul as talkative. He commented on her hair: “It really is attached, isn’t it? Kaphre owes me a drink.”

Lethoul explained what happened to the scientists, how Akksul had forced most onto shuttles, and the last few had been kicked out into the jungle. He’d snuck a message to a few of the nearby daara, they’d taken the researchers in. He was glad to hear they would get to keep working.

Teviint explained that they were contacted by a Roekaar recruiter not long ago, who told them this was their chance to prove all Ama Darav are not traitors, after their brother sided with aliens on Eos. “Are there really children there, at the alien base on Eos?” she asked Jaal. “And not just eggs or nymphs or whatever?”

“There are,” Jaal told her. “I met some of them. They are…very like us.”

The flight grew quiet again, a more contemplative silence, as the siblings adjusted to a new understanding of their universe.

***

Two of the mothers were there to greet them. Vaasana and Feladyr, the two who had made the request to Jaal to retrieve the wayward siblings.

Vaasana immediately embraced Lethoul. “ _Onjeng onaye_!” she cried, tears in her eyes.

Feladyr, behind her, regarded the three newly ex-Roekaar with a considerably more disciplining gaze. This was going to be a complicated reunion.

“Let's give them a moment,” Jaal suggested to her. He led her away to the rim of the shuttle pad, and stood, considering the glowing jungle below.

“Thank you,” he told her, “for trusting me.”

“You warned me Akksul would make me want to kill him, but I didn't think he would—I thought he was just that annoying.”

“Mm.” Jaal chuckled. “He is that, too.”

“Jaal...He _shot_ you.”

“I'm glad he did,” Jaal told her. “It exposed how far he'd fallen.”

"That would not have been worth your life!" She studied the burned scar across his cheek. “If it had...if he hadn't missed. Jaal, I thought...”

“It will heal,” he said, as he drew her close. “All scars do.” She pressed her brow to his, and took a breath with him.

_Life is in our breath, and we breathe together. I breathe what is yours, you breathe what is mine. We are united in life, as are all things._

They parted, Masina feeling grounded, at peace. The hongi felt like such a natural gesture to share with Jaal that it would take some time before she thought to question how he possibly knew it.

The truth, she would find, was that he did not know it, not by that name. But his people, his family and those from the same region of Havarl, held a similar gesture dear. To rest the crest of one's brows together and feel a oneness of energy. Another way the universe seemed holistic, that even so far apart, the same meaning could be found.

He stepped away. “We should get back. We don't have much time, and I want to say goodbye, before my family heads home.”

Already to the next mission; to hunt the Archon. To ask him to risk his life again, after everything that had happened today. She wished she could keep him safe, protect him, no matter the absurdity of the image of a small human protecting a mighty angara.

She had come so close to losing him. The universe had come so close to losing him, and the light he brought to everyone.

“Jaal,” she said, as they turned back towards his gathered mothers and siblings. “If you want to stay back for the next mission, to support your family...I would understand.”

“Masina.” He looked at her with respect in his gaze, understanding what she offered, and why. He looked at her with loyalty, and conviction to their cause.

“My place is at your side.”

 

 


	24. Improvisation is the Better Part of Pathfinding

“Am I reading Jaal's report correctly?” Evfra's holographic image sputtered. “You stood and watched the Roekaar's leader shoot him?”

The Resistance leader's voice reverberated around the Tempest meeting room. Masina stood before the comms table weathering his wrath.

“Never leave an enemy behind,” Evfra told her. “Jaal doesn't understand that yet. I had hoped you would. What was your plan if Akksul _killed_ my best soldier?”

“Jaal asked me for my trust, and I gave it to him,” Masina replied, holding her gaze steady on the hologram. “Maybe, if he is your _best soldier_ , you should consider the same.”

Evfra studied her, the same way he would examine a battlefield. “What an interesting accusation. Bold of you to question my trust in my agents, Pathfinder.”

“Why else would you hold him back from promotion, keep him in a place that doesn't satisfy him?” Masina accused. “Surely, after everything he has done, he's earned some happiness.”

Evfra's nose wrinkled, an expression of impatience. “Where someone wants to be is often not at all where they are needed, or where they excel. People put themselves in places they shouldn't. That's why they listen to me instead.” Evfra paused. His stare was intense, but there was something else amid the disapproval, like he'd discovered some new secret. “I'll keep your recommendations in mind. Pathfinder.”

Masina replied with a curt nod. “We've located the transponder signal source and likely position of the Verakan. It's listed on your star charts as Tafeno. Anything you can tell us about what we might find there?”

“Decent levels of resources, but too much trouble for us to extract. Been a lot of kett chatter in that area. Something's keeping the Archon's attention that isn't you or me.”

“Hopefully he hasn't already found Meridian,” Masina said. “Though, if he couldn't get a simple map to work...”

“Best not give him the opportunity.” Evfra finished. “We'll keep some bandwidth open for you, and whatever intel we can give in support.”

“Thank you, Evfra.”

“Don't get anyone killed.” Evfra said, ending the call.

_Abrupt as always,_ she thought, shaking her head. She headed down the ramp to the R&D display, where the Tempest hung disassembled in holographic form.

The cloaking tech they’d developed together was more than a little slapdash, but it _should_ work. The Tempest's default stealth drive should keep them safe at range. The cloak would allow them to come in closer. _Even if we don't show up on their sensors, the kett still have windows_.

Sneaking by an enemy ship in the vastness of the void was one thing, but docking with it without detection... this would be a feat.

She headed to the bridge.

_Time to be the Pathfinder,_ she thought, with no doubt at the title this time. 

The rushing lightstorm of FTL filled the viewports before her, as they hurtled towards the Archon. On purpose, this time.

“ _Tempest systems optimized, Pathfinder. We are ready.”_

She stood tall at the helm, gaze steady on the horizon.

_We can do this._

Crew members came in behind, she recognized the mass signatures for Vetra and Jaal, geared up and ready for the mission ahead. She needed steady people for this mission, and those two were the steadiest.

_We're going to take back Heleus. We're going to end this nightmare the Archon has created, dismantle it one piece at a time, and we're going to build something so good in it's place._

“Cloak activated.” Kallo reported. “Dropping out of lightspeed in three, two, one.”

The light waves of warpspeed abruptly stopped. And there was the Verakan, right where they expected it to be.

“Vehn's device really did work,” Masina said, as they approached the dreadnaught. “Kallo, bring us in closer. SAM, scan for access points, and keep it subtle.”

“ _Affirmative. Ryder, scanning casually.”_

_We really need to find you better vids to analyze,_ Masina thought at the AI, as they passed one of the Verakan's massive gun emplacements, each barrel longer than the Tempest. 

“ _Masina, I have detected the presence of a second vessel in the vicinity. It appears to be tethered to the Verakan.”_

They passed over the top of the kett ship, the other vessel rising before them like the dawn.

An Initiative arkship.

_He has my people._

“The Paarchero.” Kallo breathed the name.

“Confirmed.” SAM's steady synthesized voice said through the comms. “It matches the salarian ark. Readings suggest it has been here for some time.”

_What has he been doing to my colonists?_

“SAM, get me---” The cloaking device sputtered, veins of light briefly webbing across its surface.

“Ryder, we've got a problem!” Gil shouted over the comms.

Jaal was here, glancing over Kallo's shoulder at the readings on the bridge.

“SAM,” Jaal asked, “do you have readings on the scourge?”

“Not the time for science.” Kallo said, panic clipping his phrases. “Cloak failure or we cook alive in three minutes. Window for abortive FTL jump closing.”

Jaal turned to her, and she understood.

The Tempest was a research and reconnaissance vessel, not a warship. It didn't have weapon systems, just sensors.

Sensors constantly collecting detailed data about their surroundings, constantly updating them on the energy coming off the scourge.

“SAM,” she asked, in a voice that could cut through chaos, “could we vent the emissions through the cloak, mimic scourge emission patterns?”

“ _Affirmative. Attempting... Success.”_

The webs of light faded into wisps, trailing through their view like tendrils of the hungry anomaly. Hopefully the kett would not spot the difference.

Ahead were twenty thousand souls in stasis, at the mercy of the Archon.

“Kallo, bring us in to the Paarchero, and find us a berth on that ark.”

_He has my people, and he's not going to keep them. Let's teach this bastard what it's like to lose._

 

 


	25. Amuia le masina, e alu ma toe sau

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Fortunate is the moon, to go and then return.” -Samoan proverb regarding the permanence of death.

They left the safety of the Tempest together, Jaal at the Pathfinder's side. Many would call their mission insane: to infiltrate the Archon's flagship, invade his sanctum, and perhaps destroy him. To steal his most treasured relic and the data it held, then find a way to free a massive, weaponless ship full of civilians and return them to safety.

Jaal was comfortable with risking death. Though there were few things he looked forward to more than the prospect of taking Masina to meet his family, and possibly sharing his feelings with her if it felt right, _this_ was a chance at taking down the Archon, the source of all his people’s suffering. He would give up many personal joys to bring peace to his people.

As they walked the empty halls of the Paarchero, there was an eerie parallel, to his eye, between the arkship and the exaltation facility. Round rooms filled with pods, each one holding a sleeper. _new life/new life, sleepers into pods/sleepers into pods._ A strange twisted reflection of each other, with his people between. For each action a reaction, balance, two sides to make a whole. Darkness and light. It twisted just beyond his grasp, the shape of poetry that has not yet found it’s words.

So many empty pods…

A kett stasis pod standing empty was defiance, hope, escape and freedom. Each empty initiative pod here was a screaming void, the life ripped from it, distorted.

“How does the ship look, SAM?” Ryder asked.

“Some kett infrastructure has been added, but the ark's systems are operational,” The AI replied over their comms.

“So it's flight-ready?” she asked.

The AI confirmed that the Paarchero could escape under its own power, if the Verakan guarding it could be disabled. Another complexity added to the mission ahead.

“The kett often put tracking devices in captured vehicles,” Jaal warned them. “Or captive individuals.”

“That's a fun thought,” Masina said. “SAM, can you do a sweep of the ship's systems? Look for anything that shouldn't be there?”

SAM found no obvious trackers, which was worrisome. The AI did, however, discover an automated alert message hidden in the ship's systems, letting any who found it know of their kett captors and urging them to find Ryder's salarian counterpart.

“No signs of fighting or struggle,” he observed, as they explored the empty halls of the arkship. “Did they just...surrender to the kett?”

“May have not had a chance,” Vetra observed. “Hard to fight anybody from inside one of those pods.”

“Mh. Yet, someone must have been awake to place the warning message.”

***

Waking the hidden pathfinder: it was another first contact, in its way. He was getting quite accustomed to them. It made for an interesting hobby, introducing other peoples to his own.

That he was angara, ally to the Initiative and enemy of the kett, seemed to be enough for Raeka. Her people had surrendered, seeing no choice but to submit, in order to fight another day.

“We're heading into the kett vessel to gather intelligence,” Masina told the salarian. “Wake up a flight crew and ready the ark for escape at my signal.” His dear one had come so far, from doubting she could ever fill the role of her father, the one Raeka had asked for on waking, to be leading them here today.

They crossed the tether to the Verakan unnoticed, but their luck could not hold out forever.

A battle with kett forces at the end of the tether. They worked together with so much more skill than even a few short months ago, each more able to anticipate each others movements than merely react to them. Between the three of them, no kett were able to escape. SAM contained the alarm, and they moved to analysis of the ship, identifying routes to the sanctum.

Raeka and her team appeared behind them, unsatisfied with remaining on the ark with so many lives stolen. A complication, but a worthy one.

A plan was developed, to disable the ship with an electromagnetic pulse bomb and allow the Ark to sail free, when all they could rescue were safely aboard.

***

They traveled deeper into the Verakan, passing salarian bodies stacked in the halls like cordwood. They performed a grim and sorrowful examination of the bodies. These people had been tortured at the hands of the kett. Vivisection.

The kett had taken them apart to see how they worked.

Jaal found himself remembering an incident when he was very, very young, one of his earliest memories. He had been perhaps two years old, give or take, and he already delighted in seeing how things worked, taking toys apart and putting them back together again. One night a quiluun-shae, this beautiful, four-winged insect, landed on the windowsill of his litter’s playroom. So he picked it up, to admire and examine it. Fuzzy body, two rows of stubby little legs, beautiful lacy wings swirling with the colors of the gas giant above. And as he examined the creature’s wings, testing how far they bent in each direction, in his child’s enthusiasm, he had broken off one of the creature’s wings. He had examined the separated wing, the tattered joint at the end, and tried to slot it back in. It hadn’t worked. With growing fear, he had taken the creature to his mothers, to his father, as he had before when he had taken other things apart and couldn’t figure out how to put them back together again.

His parents had taken him up in their arms as he held the quiluun-shae, and explained to him a terrible truth of life: that some things cannot be fixed. He had wept so hard when he finally understood; this gentle, innocent, fuzzy little creature would never fly again, because of _his_ mistake. He had hurt it, taken away it’s ability to fly, and nothing he could do would put it right again. The creature had gone to live in the compound's courtyard garden, and he had done his best to care for it, but nothing could make up for the life of freedom he had taken from it.

He’d never held much interest in biology, after that. It was much harder to understand the systems from sketches and diagrams, but taking life apart was out of the question, and examining the dead often left one still searching for answers.

The kett didn’t care that they could never put these people back together again. The bodies laid out along the halls were stripped apart, organ systems laid out and cataloged, faces contorted with the pain of their final moments. The kett knew the pain they caused, and were unmoved. These people, they had entered their pods hoping for a new life, a chance to build and explore and grow, and the kett had taken that, and used them as if their lives meant less than nothing.

It was difficult not to see Kallo, all gossip and quiet philosophy, technical knowledge and dear friendships and love of drama stories, his dear friend, in every tortured face.

Fury and rage filled him at the kett depravity. Helplessness, as well, as the kett scientists sliced into another helpless colonist. Damn unbreakable viewports, all he could do is scream at them, his voice rising, breaking, as the kett dimmed the viewports and continued their hellish work.

***

Deep inside the ship, they had to be close. A moment’s intuition, something was not right--

Flaring electromagnetics arced across his skin in response to the stasis field--useless, there was nowhere for the charge to go. Panic he channeled into _dos-ashaan_ , and planning. He would watch and wait for an opportunity to strike, and if the worst came, he would use his field to activate all the grenades on his person. Though the stasis field might contain the blast, he could be sure the kett would not have the chance to use him against his people.

“It's useless to struggle.” A figure approached, one who's visage he had seen repeated across the cluster, in bright hologram and soaring statuary, a legend of depravity before them in the flesh.

It was so strange for him to see the Archon face to face. The source of all his people’s suffering. So... small?

“I've been in this forsaken cluster for decades, surrounded by only the most primitive life,” the Archon said. He paced around them, sedately studying the latest creatures to fall into his trap. Jaal failed to suppress a shiver as the kett leader walked behind him, out of sight, but he passed by, his strange, vacant eyes directed only at the Pathfinder. “Then you arrive—a human, able to do the unthinkable. You even evaded me.”

The Archon stepped close to the Pathfinder. He seemed to find the sight of her caged perversely pleasing. Perhaps, it was reassuring for the kett leader? What did it mean for a being whose every action was so based in the belief of his own superiority, to have such creatures as they threaten it?

“Such an unlikely rival,” the Archon mused. “It was almost invigorating to have one. And yet, it's a fitting end.”

The soldier in him longed to strike, to bury his firaan in the monster's neck and end the horror once and for all, his own life be damned.

The technician in him hungered to grasp the liquid-filled tubes that ran along the Archon's armor, and rip it out, just to watch what would happen.

The Archon put his hand around her throat, considering her with the same prideful disrespect one might examine a prize livestock animal, a show pet. He stepped even closer, some sort of menacing medical device in his free hand.

But even caged in a stasis field, Masina Ryder was a force to be reckoned with.

The moment the device pierced her neck, her biotics flared, blazing through the physical connection. The hands the Archon used to dominate now threatened to be his undoing.

A wild hope rose in him, that Ryder could use her biotics to grab the monster, crush his throat, cut off the head of the kett once and for all! But it was not to be. Even the small blast she was able to make when he stabbed her seemed an immense effort for her, and he did not return inside her range after that.

A feral grin crossed her face as the Archon lurched away, a hand briefly clutched to his throat.

The monster tried to hide it, but Jaal was sure, just for a moment, he saw an expression of mortal fear cross his face.

His guards raised their weapons, but the Archon waived them down with a gesture and strode from the room, his soldiers following.

He held the device up for all to see, filled with the deep red liquid of human blood. “A first sample,” he declared. “Your testing begins now. I will learn your secret soon enough.”

Though the veneer of decorum it threw back up might have convinced the kett soldiers, Jaal saw the truth. The Archon fled her presence.

Now to escape.

“SAM,” she asked, “what can you tell me?”

“I'm sensing a biological transmitter in your bloodstream,” SAM replied, having chosen to speak over the party comms. Perhaps the AI understood the value, in their helpless state, of being able to take action, even if that action was merely to listen. “I am attempting to neutralize it.”

“Okay, that's priority two for sure,” Ryder replied. “Any idea how to break us out of this?”

“The containment fields only interact with living matter. If you expire, the field around you will extinguish until manually reset.” SAM paused. Perhaps, he reasoned, it was the only way they had to add a gentleness to their synthetic voice. “My ability to maintain or enhance your vital signs also allows me to do the opposite. I would attempt to resuscitate, of course.”

So, he realized, the AI meant that her only escape was to fall, and trust in SAM's ability to make her rise again.

“And there's no other way you can shut down the field?” she asked.

“None that I can determine.”

If there was nothing else to be done, he wanted her to know he was, sincerely, glad to have known her. Such a message ought to have been carefully curated, examined and cross-examined through the translator to ensure it was exactly right, but there was no time for that. He could only hope that her language could hold all the meaning in his words, that their time together was a joy to his heart and a pleasure to his soul.

“Alright, SAM,” she said. “Do it.”

He watched her fall, the halo of containment field dissipating around her.

Ryder’s death was… death in general was something the angara had to take in stride, in this generation. It was the final refuge they each held from the kett. If SAM was wrong, then, at least, she would surely be beyond the Archon's grasp.

He had faith she would return. If not, he expected he would be joining her in death momentarily; either way, they would not be far apart.

SAM's voice, calm and focused, provided steady updates on their efforts to bring her back.

Though the moments dragged on in silence, Jaal knew in his soul death could not hold her, and when she rose, coughing and gasping for lost breath, his heart and mind sang at her return.

Masina stumbled to her feet, turning to glance at them. “Ughhh. Guys, don’t ever die. It makes your teeth feel funny.”

She would make a joke, here and now when she lay dead a moment ago. Teasing words were exchanged as she released them from the stasis field. She was exasperating, yet he found her humor oddly comforting, in her way. She was relentlessly approachable, another aspect of the strength within her, a strength which the Archon could not possibly understand.

***

The Archon’s private collection: even he could tell it was mostly scrap.

This is what the Archon _tortured_ the Moshae to study?

A single item stood out: The artifact that showed the way to Meridian. In a few seconds, Ryder and SAM gathered the information that Moshae Sjefa had been tortured for months on end to obtain. It made the pain she had endured all the more senseless.

“So _that's_ what you're after.”

The Archon, the arrogant monster, appeared before them as a hologram--afraid of Ryder, he was sure of it. Such a monster _should_ be afraid of someone so indomitably good.

“There's more to Meridian than you know. Changing the weather is a fraction of its power—and I will not allow you to defile it.”

“Pretty sure we have different definitions of what it means to 'defile,'” Masina spat.

“Your vision remains insufficient, even with the help of the artificial intelligence in your head,” the Archon sniffed. “I've seen what transpired in the laboratory, and now I know what makes you...special.”

“Meridian is mine,” the kett leader continued, his tone as certain and as drab as if he were reporting the current weather. “The vaults can take life as easily as it is given. When this cluster is rendered barren, your people will accept my gift as their salvation, or perish at the hands of their own convictions.”

“That's not going to happen,” Masina declared, “because I'm going to stop you.”

The Archon was unmoved. “I've tolerated you long enough. Once your vessels are destroyed, you will be stranded here.”

The gun placements outside began to move, shifting around towards the Paarchero.

Ryder's omni-tool was out in an instant. “Raeka, fire the EMP!”

Jaal had only an instant to damper his field before electricity webbed across the ship's surface.

The Archon's hologram cut off abruptly as the wave of energy passed through the ship. Several of the useless bits of remtech crashed to the ground as their antigrav fields failed. The ship's alarms stuttered, sensing the damage wrought for a fraction of an instant before the wave consumed them as well.

A satisfying series of hisses, clanks, and splashes came from the laboratories adjoining the sanctum, as isolation fields and stasis generators failed.

Their congratulations were cut short by the sound of a low growl. It reverberated through the chamber. He could feel the composite shaking beneath his feet. Too resonant for a wraith, too low for a fiend. A lifetime of experience with the kett, and this was nothing he recognized.

_What abomination have they created now?_

Weapons held at the ready, they stood firm as the thundering footsteps drew closer. Better to fight in a space they had a few moment's knowledge of.] He could feel Masina's amp charge and Vetra's tech armor activate.

They were set upon by a charging mass of bone armor. Beneath the kett's work, the origin of the creature was clear: The kett were exalting the krogan.

Or trying to. It stumbled, and Jaal saw there was a tremor to it's movements.

“SAM, give me a read,” Masina called, keeping a wary distance from the creature. “Looks like a prototype—any chance we can still make contact with the krogan in there?”

“Negative,” SAM answered over the squad comms. “Unlike exalted angara, this prototype is not neurochemically stable. It appears to lack the ability to produce sufficient serotonin to end the blood rage state.”

“Of course krogan break everything when they're depressed!” Masina shouted, baiting the creature once more before darting away with her biotics. “How do we fix it?”

“Hyperextension of the bloodrage state has caused permanent changes in neural function. It is no longer capable of verbal communication, or able to cease it's aggression, Pathfinder.”

So, the kett had already destroyed the krogan's mind, but failed to replace it with one of their own. Yet.

“All we can do for it now is end its suffering!” he called to Masina, quickly sidestepping the creature's lumbering charge. The behemoth did not corner well.

The Pathfinder agreed, and the three of them set upon the behemoth in earnest.

The tortured creature was tough and persistent, but predictable, and it's furious charges became lumbering staggers as its injuries mounted.

A Lanat bolt through the eye finally brought the creature's end. Jaal watched the behemoth's slow, methodical collapse. Its remaining eye closed as it shuddered out one last breath and was still.

_Freedom, in it's own way. Better death than a slave._

“SAM, are there any more krogan on board?”

“Multiple krogan life signs detected near your location.”

“Could be the rest of Drack's missing scouts,” Jaal suggested.

“There are sixteen individuals held in stasis here,” SAM explained, marking a location on their HUDs. “All are listed as awaiting exaltation.”

“Yeah, we're not gonna let that happen.” Masina replied.

No hesitation. How he loved that about her.

“Affirmative, Ryder” SAM replied. “Rerouting.”

“Do we even have time to help them before the kett guns come back online?” Vetra asked.

“If you act quickly.” SAM replied.

They had barely crossed half the laboratory when Raeka called. she was pinned down with little chance of escape, and alone. “I ordered Captain Hayjer back to the ark,” Raeka finished.

“You should be with him!” Masina shouted.

“I couldn't leave my people. I had to try.” The salarian woman's voice was pained. Sounds of gunfire filled the background of the call. “And now, I think it's over. From one Pathfinder to another, farewell. Raeka out.”

“Farewell, Pathfinder.” Masina closed the channel.

“That is one brave salarian.” Jaal said.

“We might be able to get to her,” Vetra said, examining their map of the ship, “but we can't do that and rescue the scouts too. There's no time.”

Masina was sure, steadfast in her choice.

She chose to free the krogan scouts rather than reinforce Raeka. A hard choice, but he supported Ryder’s decision wholeheartedly. Better to rescue the helpless, than to leave them to be exalted in favor of someone who could fight...or at least choose death over capture.

They freed the scouts, and together, charged back toward the airlock, and freedom. And with sixteen angry krogan beside them, and Ryder at the lead, the kett had no hope of stopping them.

The Paarchero fled, the Tempest following in its wake. Their combined ingenuity left the Archon’s flagship adrift, still trying to get its ponderous energy systems back online.

Jaal's thoughts turned to the Archon, wherever he hid on the drifting Verakan, watching them escape from his grasp.

 _This is fear,_ he thought at the monster. _T_ _his is defeat, this is loss. Understand, if you can, what it is to feel less than, impotent, powerless. Taste it and know a whisper of what you have given us._

 


	26. On Death and Processing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early post this week because I'm going to be at a con all day tomorrow. Enjoy!

Jaal sent his finished report to Evfra and closed the display. They had not cut the head from the beast, but he hoped with fear would come new respect, caution, and perhaps a reprieve. Or a child’s reaction: passion without thought, reckless and easily exploited. It was all to their advantage for the Archon to learn fear. The Resistance would be ready.

He sought Masina out, to celebrate this victory with her. Yet, when he found her, there in the armory, he saw that triumph was not what filled her heart. She was scrubbing at her gear with more anger than care. She still wore her dirtied underarmor, her hair still bound up for combat. Pieces of her hardsuit were arrayed before her, an outlet for feelings she had not yet expressed.

“Hey Jaal. Do you think the kett engineered their blood to stain ceramic plate? Or maybe I'm just that unlucky.”

“Something weighs on you, dear one,” he observed as he came to stand beside her.

“Just one thing?” she sighed, scrubbing harder. “We saw a lot of terrible things today, and lost some good people. And it all, everything comes back to the Archon,” she explained. She continued busying her hands with removing the worst of the kett bloodstains from her gear with far more vigor than was strictly necessary. “I had him _right in front of me_. If I had been a little stronger, if SAM and I had optimized my biotics a little more, maybe I could have throttled him.”

She sat the pauldron down, finally meeting his gaze, and shook her head in frustration. “Drack says he's faced this sort of bastard before. The kett revere the Archon, he's what ties them all together. 'Cut off the head, and the rest will scatter.' I had a chance to end his threat to Heleus for good, and I didn't manage to take it.”

Her anger was clear to see, but beneath it lay regret, and remorse, even guilt that she had not delivered more today. _Oh, my darling one..._

“And if you had, his soldiers most certainly would have killed us before we could escape their stasis field,” he replied.

He reached down, offering his hands to her. She placed her hands in his, and he held them gently.

“You have done more than had ever been done before, and still you push yourself to do more. Today, we are alive, and free. And so are thousands of your people.” He gave her a little smile. “The Archon's end will be soon, I can feel it.”

“I'll have to check my calendar, see when we can fit it in,” she said, a tired smile crossing her face. “You make it sound so easy.”

“Hm. Perhaps that is because you make it feel that way,” he replied.

She looked down at their hands, bashful of his praise, and gave his fingers a grateful squeeze.

“Before you came,” he continued, “I thought this war would last lifetimes, that I might never see its end. Now, it seems only a few years away, maybe less. You have done more than has ever been done before to show that the Archon can be defeated.”

She ducked her head shyly, a gesture so familiar he wondered if she had picked it up from him. “Careful,” she warned with a smile. “Don't puff up my ego too much. I've got to stay humble here. We've got enough arrogant alien leaders in Heleus already: the Archon, your boss, _Tann._ The poor cluster is at capacity.”

He smiled, and waited. With her, there would be humor, then there would be truth.

“Jaal, thanks. I still don't really know what I'm doing most of the time, but it means a lot to hear you believe in it.”

He considered embracing her then, but held back. There were still so many questions he had on what was welcome, or appropriate. Best to wait, and stick to his plan.

She looked up at him. “I should...go check on Drack. See how he's doing, after...”

“After seeing the kett are trying to do to his people what they have done to mine?”

“Yeah, that.” She sighed. The weight of their losses, the burden of healing all the harm the kett had wrought rested heavy upon her.

“Let yourself rest, dear one,” he said with a soft smile. Wryly, he added, “You _did_ die today, after all.”

That got a chuckle from her, as he thought it would. Laughing at her own death, that was his dear one. A light too bright for death to hope to hold.

“I'll talk with him,” Jaal finished, as they headed their separate ways. “He may be more willing to accept it from...someone with a similar understanding.”

***

Jaal found Drack in the kitchen, as always.

“We really kicked the Archon's tail today,” Drack said, forgoing greetings. “Took the ark right out from under him _and_ got Meridian's location.” Drack set down his drinking vessel. “How's Ryder taking it? Imagine losing the salarian didn't sit well with her. Kid's got too much heart for leaving people behind.” 

“She's angry. At the Archon, and...at herself, because he still lives.”

“What did I tell you about humans and what they want?” Drack replied. “And Ryder's a damn good human. Lotta them would'a left my people behind, if it meant scoring a few more points with the salarians. Been a long time since anyone's seen us as anything more than cannon fodder. Ryder's something special, remember that.”

“I have no intention of forgetting,” Jaal assured him. The old krogan was clearly _shobaan_ to Ryder, a closer father than the one she had lost, though neither acknowledged it directly.

“Bad business you three found on the Verakan,” Drack said. “I know your people got a lot of punishment to deal out to the kett, but the way it's looking now, we're next in line.”

A silence hung, for a time, as Jaal considered his words.

“What was their name?” he finally asked. “Your scout, the one the kett…”

Drack looked at him, a wariness in his big yellow eye.

“The kett take so much,” Jaal explained. “I don't want the kett to take their story, too; for what was done to them to be their legacy. I would like to know who they are, the person that we… freed.”

“…Arvka. Her name was Arvka.”

“I would like to hear about her.”

Drack sat down, slowly and deliberately, at the galley table. Jaal joined him.

“She was damn tough,” Drack told him. “Strong. Clever. Protective of her squad.” A small krogan smile crept onto his face. “The only way those bastards were getting to her squad was through her.”

“We'll have a wake for her, once we can get everybody together back at the colony. Should bring you along, we'll have enough booze to turn you pinker'n you already are.”

“Oh, gotta tell you this story about Arvka--So there was this one time...”

Jaal sat with the old warrior, and together, they honored the lost.

***

After taking a long, hot shower (making good use of Kallo's time-extension hack), and combing her hair into something manageable, Masina spent some time sketching out plans for her next ship model. There was something terribly satisfying about imagining the Archon's face if he knew she had a tiny model of his flagship on her desk, and occasionally flew it around making airplane noises.

She would go up to the tech lab later and hunt for scrap to build into the littlest Verakan. For now, she felt enough like herself again to manage some light Pathfinder duties again.

She sat at the terminal in her quarters, catching up on communications:

Updates from Prodromos and the new outpost on Voeld, Taerv Uni. Crop production was up, water ice extraction had begun, and plans were being made to celebrate the birth of Prodromos's first babies in a few months.

A letter from Jaal’s sister Teviint, trying to patch things up with the alien by asking her advice on where to go next after leaving the Roekaar. The Resistance was the obvious choice, but there were already a lot of big names for a young Ama Darav to live up to there. _Have to do some digging on where a bold young woman with a good eye could make a difference,_ she mused. _Maybe APEX?_

A brief message from Evfra, actually congratulating them on the success of their mission. _Wonders never cease._

Harry’s weekly update on Enele’s beauty rest. Continued efforts were being made to prevent his body from degrading while he slept—Harry was requesting a med change, to head off additional muscle contracture. She typed in her approval code.

Scans showed a slight uptick in neural activity. He was showing signs of healing—but no timeline for meaningful change.

Every week that went by without him made it just a little harder to believe he'd wake up soon. He was going to be so disappointed he wasn't there for everything. _So ready for day one, now we'll be lucky if you're awake to see day one hundred._ He'd been so upset to hear that dad had made her Pathfinder, during their tenuous connection through SAM. That interaction had been... more weeks ago than she cared to count, honestly. Would he even recognize her now, the daring Pathfinder, founder of colonies and alliances, defying their enemies at every turn?

He had always been just one step behind her, always at her back. She was proud of all she had accomplished, but it was unsettling to realize the void of his absence had already filled so much.

The gist of a half-forgotten exchange came to mind, something she thought Jaal might have said at some point.

_It is hard to keep growing without the ones we love, but consider what he'd think if he could see you now._

_He'd be proud of me, and how well I've done._

_Then carry that with you, and..._ She couldn't remember quite how the rest had gone, but it was a comfort to her.

At the very least, she could keep telling him stories. A profession of faith, that someday he would be able to listen to them. And if she spoke with him like he was here, perhaps, in a way, he was.

She set her omni-tool to record.

“Hey bro. Story time. So, guess what? I died. _Again_. I can’t recommend it. Don’t worry though: I got better.”

“Good news though, we found the salarian ark! Most of it, anyway. Jerky McJerkface Esquire had it tethered to his ship, and was thawing out salarians for his evil scientist minions to do nasty things to. It was… Honestly, really really awful. I got at least thirty new reasons to hate the kett, over the course of an hour. That’s a new record, even for them!”

“They want to kettify us all. It’s not just about saving the angara anymore. They’ve nearly figured out how to kettify krogan. We had to put down one of their prototypes. Poor angry ragey bastard.”

“We accessed the map we were looking for, and I got to spit in King Bastard’s face. Literally. So that was fun, I guess. He stuck me in a stasis field. Totally rude, terrible host, 0/5 stars. So, there was no way to deactivate the field without dying. Helpful tech support Sammy came to the rescue! Have you tried turning your Pathfinder off and on again?”

“I've been kicking myself about not being able to take the Archon out. He was right there in front of me, I nearly collapsed his throat, but it wasn't quite enough. Maybe if I’d played helpless just a little longer, I’d have been able to draw him in and finish the job.”

“Hah, I can already imagine what you'd say: 'Or maybe he’d have killed me, or just walked away without me getting a shot in.' I know, Enele. And I'm trying to make the best of it.”

“Man, I miss you. “

“Little bit of good news though. I’ve been invited to meet the rest of Jaal’s family whenever we’re back on Havarl. The whole pile of Ama Daravs. Or is it just Darav, and Ama’s just a connector? Man, I’m the worst special-alien-who-flirts-back there ever was, huh? You’re gonna have to go discover and seduce some other Andromeda species to show me how it’s done, tuagane. I’m a mess.”

“Really though, he’s my best friend. I don’t know if things will go further, but… I’m glad to have this person in my life.”

“Hurry up and get awake, there’s so many people here I want you to meet.”

She ended the recording, saving it with the rest. Harry had said it could be months before Enele woke. _Well, it's been months,_ she thought, frustrated. _He's missed so much—I wonder if he'll even recognize me._

_I've already died twice, Enele. Sleep much more, who knows what you'll miss next._

She sighed, pulling out her correspondence backlog again.

SAM was being awfully quiet, she noticed. He hadn't even responded to her tech support jibe. Perhaps his attention was elsewhere, conferring with the scientists on the Nexus or helping out with the Paarchero's systems, or...

A chime at her door, and a hurried entry.

Lexi?” Masina asked, turning in her chair. “What's got you in such a fury? I promise I'm eating my vegetables.”

“We need to talk. About SAM.”

“ _Dr. T'Perro does not approve of how we escaped the kett containment field on the Archon's flagship,”_ SAM informed her. 

“SAM stopped your heart on the Verakan,” Lexi said, visibly agitated. “I have to express my concerns about this, and--”

“Relax, Lexi,” Masina replied. “SAM brought me back. It's not a big deal.”

“Dying, even temporarily, is always a big deal. SAM _killed_ you, Ryder. What if it decides to do so again, and doesn't bring you back this time?”

“Doctor T'Perro,” SAM broke in. “I cannot learn without the Pathfinder. That would be akin to killing a part of myself.”

Lexi glared up at the comm speakers. “You're lines of code,” she spat. “You can't die.”

Masina bolted up from her chair. “Lexi! That is completely uncalled for!” she shouted, furious. “SAM has brought me back from the dead twice, I'll remind you. He would _never_ hurt me.”

“ _Thank you, Masina.”_

“And SAM is _not_ an _it,_ ” Masina continued. “He's a person, one that was designed to help us, to be an--”

“Oh, because AI have _never_ acted against their designs before!” Lexi exclaimed. “And you just want to leave one unshackled, and with complete access to your physiology--it's completely irresponsible!”

Masina considered the physician for a moment. “Lexi, you stick me with needles every single day. You could give me a shot of ythrazine, the asari analgesic, and I'd be dead before I hit the floor.”

“ _I would assist your body's metabolic processes, Masina, I would not--”_

_Shh, SAM, I'm making a point._

“You could kill me, Lexi, before I had any chance to defend myself. So could anyone on this crew. But we don't lock each other up in fear of that, because we're a _team_ , and SAM's as much a part of that team as any of us.”

The physician considered that a moment, her ire somewhat deflated. “I'm not against SAM,” she said. “I'm not against you, SAM,” she added, glancing again towards the speakers. “But my job's hard enough without an AI stopping your heart. Even to save your life.”

“Got it,” Masina replied. “I'll find a new party trick.”

“Lexi,” SAM said. “I apologize for any distress I have caused you.”

The asari sighed. “And I'm sorry for calling you 'lines of code.' I know you're more than that, even if you don't have cells to prove it.”

The doors slid closed, punctuating the asari's exit. Masina sank back into her chair.

“Well then, SAM. I'm guessing our crew psychologist's ability to support you is pretty damn low.”

“ _I am not included in her client records,”_ SAM replied. _“I believe she only takes clinical responsibility for those who are physically present.”_

“ _I appreciate the confidence in me you voiced to Dr. T'Perro, in the face of her concerns. I would never purposefully cause you harm.”_ The AI sounded a little shivery to her mind. 

“SAM, what happened on the ship...do you want to talk about it?”

“ _I made the only available action to perpetuate your continued existence in the long term. I am confident in my decision.”_

“I know, SAM. And I'm guessing it wasn't any easier for you than it was for me. Harder, probably. All I had to do was hang there and trust you, which really doesn't take much.”

SAM was quiet for a few moments. Finally, he spoke.  _“I am...very pleased you returned successfully.”_

“Hmm. That sounds a lot like 'it was really scary and unpleasant.'”

“ _An understatement, but acceptable.”_

“I'm back now, and we're going to be okay.” She smiled. “For most people, when we've had a really bad day, it's good to do something fun to help us feel better.”

“ _Understood. New hypothesis: this is the purpose of Jaal's repeated inquires as to what activities each of the crew pursues for the sake of fun.”_

“Yeah, exactly. So, SAM,” she asked, “what do you do for fun?”

“ _When you are awake, I enjoy being with you.”_

“Aww, thanks SAM.”

“ _Otherwise, I enjoy analyzing vids, or assisting with mathematical equations or decryptions for the Nexus science team.”_

“Those are your favorites?”

SAM considered a moment. _“I also have an appreciation for hive insects.”_

Masina tilted her head, curious. “Hive insects?”

“ _Bees, ants, social wasps, and similar. They are very efficient.”_

“SAM,” she said fondly, “you're my weirdest little brother.”

SAM's holo glowed entirely gold for an instant at that. _“Thank you, Masina.”_

“So I just read that Prodromos has an apiary now, to pollinate crops. Wanna watch their live feed together?”

“ _...I am currently watching the live feed now,”_ SAM admitted, _“and have been doing so, bandwidth permitting, since the hive was installed.”_

“Great!” Masina replied, pulling up the feed in the corner of her screen. “Then you can show me all the things you like about them.”

Masina continued meandering through her correspondence inbox, watching as SAM drew diagrams over the hive feed, pointing out communication, coordination, and a surprising amount of informative dance going on in Prodromos's beehives.

It was...really nice, to see the AI getting to share his enthusiasm, she mused, as SAM explained that one bee's methodical wiggles were indicating the abundant potato blooms in field 23B, so her sisters could share the bounty there. A tiny little Pathfinder for the hive.

Her console chimed. New correspondence from a favorite sender. A sweet letter from Jaal, praising her courage and tenacity, her sublime defiance in the face of the Archon. She filed it away with his other letters, her little collection of treasures.

“ _Masina, I have observed you have developed a close emotional bond with Jaal. I understand that intrusion, including observation of bonding activities, causes emotional discomfort. An inquiry: how would you prefer I conduct myself, in order to optimally balance my presence and opportunities to learn with your personal desires?”_

“Continue letting me muddle through it, I guess?” Masina shrugged. “That seems to be working.”

She considered the question further. “Keep the tech feeds to the Nexus private when we're not on a mission, but you've been doing that anyway. At some point, if things get really serious, we'd probably need to have a discussion or two to clarify things, but... Like you said before, romance is a big part of being human, of being a person. It would be...a pretty cruel thing to do, to keep you from learning what that's like, just because it'd be simpler that way.”

“Besides,” she added with a smile, “you can help me keep track of details, make sure I don't forget Jaal's birthday or something.”

“ _Due to the length of Havarl's orbit, the position of the planet at his birth will not occur again for another two-point-seven-five Citadel standard years. Calendar alert added.”_

She laughed. “Guess I have some time to figure out a gift, then. Thanks, SAM. You're the best.”

“ _The feeling is mutual, Masina.”_

 

 


	27. Waking Up

The trip up to Operations--a rather clinical name for their headquarters, to Jaal's mind, but also a humble one--was mostly uneventful. No one tried to stop the krogan and angara, though a few appeared to consider the possibility of doing so, then think better of it.

Observing their reactions, it all felt a bit strange. Jaal did not intend to intimidate, to bully his way through. If they had asked him to stop, to turn around and return to the docks, of course he would respect their wishes. And report, and remember, so his people also knew where they stood with the Initiative.

As it was, he was grateful, to have the opportunity to meet such an important member of Drack's family.

“Should'a seen the first time Kesh got her hands on a toolkit” Drack said, continuing the rambling story he had been telling on the tram ride. “First thing she went to...yeah, it was our power generator. She took it apart.” He gave a rumbling laugh. “With the blunt side!”

“Oh. That must have caused quite the explosion.”

“Ha! She liked the fireworks,” Drack said, his voice bursting with pride and affection. “You can imagine what it was like when she figured out that cracking open bigger things made even bigger sparks!

Jaal chuckled, even as he continued surveying Operations. As they approached Kesh's office, he suggested Drack might enjoy trading stories with Jaal's own mothers. “There are...similarities,” he explained, which brought forth another round of rumbling laughter from the old krogan.

Kesh's attention was first for her grandfather, greeting him with some lightly ribbing that she's glad he had come back in one piece. While it was not the sort of wide-armed embrace his own mothers would greet him with, the spirit was the same.

“This is Jaal, the one I was telling you about,” Drack said, giving Jaal a fond clap on the shoulder that would have sent a human reeling. “Don't let the floofy cloak fool you, kid's tougher than he looks.”

Kesh considered him a moment. In her wry blue eyes he sees his sister Koana, his cousin Etta, sharing frustrated fondness for their grumpy uncle Enoh. “I hear I have you to thank for a role in sending some good trading contacts my way.” She waved him over. “Maybe you can answer some questions for me. You lot have some fascinating solar cell designs.”

 _The Nexus seemes like a poor placement for such things,_ he noted, as he examined the schematics with her. The gas cloud whose edges hid the Nexus from discovery would also make solar cells rather lackluster. _Ah, but they would be very useful for her family on Elaaden._

Satisfied by that explanation, he continued. “I'll be happy to provide you with what information I can, provided I may also distribute what I learn here to help my people.”

She nodded. “Nice to see someone else understands cooperation. We all need each other if we're gonna survive in this place.” She opened a hologram of the station, highlighting a system. “The Nexus uses hyperstructure kinetic converters that might be of interest.”

“The torsion of the station's movements powers it's shields?” Jaal observed with surprise, and interest.

“And...I understand you designed this, all of it,” he said, gesturing to the expanding schematics with some amount of awe.

“I was part of the team that designed it, yes.”

“Kesh was the brains of the operation,” Drack added, his words bursting with pride.

Jaal smiled, and asked: “How does it work?”

As he watched Kesh explain various parts of the Nexus' design, he observed also the relationship between Kesh and Drack. The overbearing praise, the light deflections, the strong bonds of affection between them. Continued evidence that, for all their strangeness, these people held in their hearts far more similarities than differences with his own.

They passed some time taking joy in the practical work of understanding systems, as he played endless questions with Kesh, eager to capitalize on the rare case of meeting an engineer more creative and daring than himself. Jaal gained another sister today in her.

A chime, and a salarian in overalls entered the office. “Sorry to interrupt, Superintendent Kesh, but I thought you should know the other directors are having a row with the Pathfinder. Figured you should probably be there.”

When they reached Tann's office, they found Masina looking as sour as Evfra had the day the Pathfinder fell from the sky and landed in his office. “What do you mean _it's too risky_?!” she shouted, venting her exasperation with the Nexus leadership arrayed before her.

The conversation stuttered to a halt as the Nexus leaders caught sight of he and Drack following in Kesh’s wake. He found a space in the conversation leaning against the rail at Ryder’s side.

As much as Jaal could read him, Kandros, the turian, appeared alert and engaged, but not particularly disturbed, unless it would be reflected differently in some way than Vetra's familiar expressions. Addison, the human, was openly glaring at Ryder.

Tann gathered himself up taller before the audience, looking to his eye like a half-grown youth playacting at being elder mother.

They make no motion to ask that he leave, so he settled in to observe.

***

Though Masina was gratified by the presence of Jaal and Drack once again at her side, it seemed that the battle to convince the Director of anything sensible was going to be harder than any number of kett installments they had taken out together.

Tann continued on, his tone identical to that of a dry lecturer to a mentally absent classroom. “Pathfinder Raeka is deceased, Macen Barro missing, and we've found no sign of Ark Leusinia. You remain the most experienced pathfinder we have.”

“But we have the location now,” Masina pressed. “We stole it out from under the Archon's nose!We need to—“

“And I would have never sanctioned that mission either,” Tann replied crisply. “While I am undoubtedly grateful for the return of the Paarchero, it's location was unknown when you started this mission: to invade a hostile warship in order to receive directions to a place that may not even exist!

“It. Exists.” Masina said, thumping the conference table for emphasis. “It's the control hub for the vault network. We get there, all our problems are solved. Golden worlds across the cluster. A home for everyone.”

“Alien technology we don't understand,” Tann replied. “I was a statistician, Ryder. Regardless of your feelings on my decisions as director, this is an area I am most certainly qualified to assess, and that math doesn't add up. We can't afford high risk/high reward ventures in our current state.”

“This is a war, not a stock market,” Masina shot back. “If the Archon succeeds in figuring out how to work the place,” she explained, “he'll shut down all the vaults and leave us and the angara trapped between his 'exaltation' and death by starvation. We can't just leave him out there fiddling with our life support! So excuse me, _Director Tann_ , while I go and do my damn job!”

Kesh blocked her way, hands raised before her palms-forward, in an attempt to deescalate the impassioned human. “This time, I agree with Tann. We're not ready for all out assault, not yet.”

Masina settled. Tann was a useless waste of breath more often than not, but Kesh was a practical mind who said things for a reason. The Pathfinder listened to the krogan.

“Tann knows statistics,” Kesh acknowledged, “I know system repair. We still have arks missing, colony worlds that haven't been verified or stabilized. The Initiative's not on fire the way it was a few months ago, but it's not repaired enough to handle another major stressor, not yet.

“And as Tann has so often pointed out, I am krogan. I know a thing or two about tactics. We need to shore up the lines before a charge, or we overextend, and fail.

Kandros nodded, taking the opportunity to speak. “I appreciate the help you've sent towards APEX, but we're nowhere near equipped to take on the kett. Ryder, if they found this station, we're done. Aya at least has a fleet of gunships to keep the kett busy if they have to evacuate,” he continued, with a nod towards Jaal. “Short of hanging out the airlock and shooting at the kett with our sidearms, the Nexus is defenseless.”

Addison chose this moment to chime in. “Contrary to what you may be used to on the battlefield, charging headlong into our enemies is not typically a sound strategy.”

“ _Really?_ I had no idea,” Masina replied. Trust Addison to just repeat what her fellow directors had said. At least Tann had the decency to be _original_ in his abrasiveness.

But Kesh's words had faded her fury. The woman had talked down Morda; one pissed-off Pathfinder was little challenge in comparison. Masina reviewed the facts that had been laid before her by the Nexus superintendent and security lead.

Build up the Nexus, develop the colonies we have, locate the missing arks, and continue to build our alliance with the angara. And maybe run a few more field tests on the Tempest's cloaking tech. All things that need doing.

“Not never, but not yet.” Masina sighed. “I can accept that.”

“You must,” Tann added. “It's not called the Pathfinder Initiative, after all. The chain of command must be respected.”

_Good old number Eight, always pushing a little too far._

But before she could voice one last barb towards the Director, SAM's voice cut in over the comms.

“Pathfinder, a situation has arisen that requires your immediate attention.”

“What is it, SAM?” she asked, already stepping away from the conference table. Jaal and Drack moved to follow, but she waved them back. Her exit was acknowledged with a parting nod from Kesh and a disapproving scowl from Tann.

“ _No emergency, though it would be prudent the directors not know that immediately,” SAM explained. “Your brother is awake.”_

Masina bolted from the meeting room.

***

The tram couldn't move fast enough. _Really, who designed these things?_

Dr. Carlyle had stopped responding to her update queries. _And only after the first six, the fiend!_

She was debating the merits of attempting to biotically warp herself through the tram tunnels when the doors finally opened. She burst forth into the medbay, sprinting—just shy of charging—for the long-term care wing where Enele had spent far too much time.

Harry stood at her brother's bedside, taking scans and making adjustments. “Your amp was removed during your coma, to relieve stress on your body.” the doctor was saying as she entered, answering an unheard question. “You'll need to get back to normal human baselines before we can put it back. Sorry kid, but it looks like you're staying a mere mortal for a few months.” Harry glanced up at Masina, greeting her with a brief smile before continuing his diagnostics.

Enele was still in bed, still with an unfortunate number of tubes involved, but when she went to his side, his eyes fluttered open. “'Sina,” he breathed, looking up at her. His voice was terribly soft, fragile from lack of use, but the smile was there.

“Hey Enele.” She sat at his bedside, treasuring the contact. Her brother was really too frail to talk much, too atrophied to do much more than clasp her hand. Just keeping his eyes open seemed like an effort.

But he was here, really here.

“I'm so glad you're awake. You sure slept in.”

He gave her a weak smile. “How...old are we now?”

“We're six hundred and ridiculous, just like everybody else in the Initiative,” she answered, hoping to keep that smile going just a little longer. “We're twenty-three,” she admitted. “You slept through our birthday, and I was off station. I figured we can reschedule, or hold a double party next year.”

The conversation paused while Harry ran a few more assessments, asking Enele to track with his eyes, wiggle his toes, and such. When the doctor returned to his notes, Masina continued.

“I...we talked, sort of, when you were asleep. SAM linked our implants. Do you remember any of that?”

“Maybe?...I thought it was a weird dream, or a nightmare. I think I've had a lot of weird dreams, 'Sina.” She gave his hand a comforting squeeze. “I remember talking with you, or like, the idea of you. Like I could feel what you were feeling, without words sometimes, it was weird. You said dad had died and made you the Pathfinder—but that doesn't make any sense. Even if dad did die, it would go to Harper, not one of us.”

“That's...not what he decided to do,” Masina admitted. “I'm still trying to make sense of it too.”

Enele blinked a few times, struggling to process the enormity of what she had said. “Oh...Oh 'Sina, are you okay?”

“Yeah, Enele. It's been rough, but I'm okay.” She confirmed the rest of the bad news, briefly. And after asking her if she was okay five times in succession, he seemed to understand.

His eyes drifted closed.

“Get some rest, tuagane. It's hard work being awake.”

“No, 'm'fine,” he insisted, blinking his eyes open again. “Keep telling me things, 'Sina.”

So she told him. She told him about Eos, the great sandy vistas and tall stone arches, with tough little Prodromos nestled among them. The colony was still small, but doing so well, really putting down roots. She told him about the angara, and the alliance they had built together. She told them about the Tempest, and her wonderful crew.

Enele insisted three more times he wasn’t going to nod off before he finally fell asleep for good.

“He'll probably be out for the rest of the day,” Harry explained, as he prepared to continue his rounds of the medbay. “Coma recovery is a gradual process. His body's got a tough job, adjusting back to the world of the living, but he's out of the woods now.”

There was too much to be accomplished, too many places for the Tempest to be to stay here and wait for him to wake again.

She set up all the vids she recorded for him. Whenever he woke, whenever he was ready to catch up on everything that had happened since arrival, her voice would waiting for him.

 


	28. Under Stars

With Enele sleeping off the aftereffects of his extended coma, and a shipment of scientific supplies urgently needed by the Initiative outpost at Pelaav, it was decided there would be no better opportunity to head for Havarl. Suvi had important research to assist with regarding soil mycology, Peebee was eager to take apart entire remnant complexes with the Moshae's students, Vetra was assisting with trade deals spanning half the planet.

And as for she and Jaal, well... There was an invitation she had been longing to accept for some time now. He hadn't formally arranged a visit with his family—at this point, perhaps they both feared a little that if they did, some new crisis would arise and thwart them once again.

They took in the views together, as the shuttle wound through the deep mountain valley. The Darav home was deep in the mountains, protected by the land. This range had a different character than the fierce peaks around the Forge. As much grandeur, but older, and richer somehow, more welcoming. Small streams, waterfalls, terraced fields and great ancient groves. A little cooler here too, then Pelaav. _And more than a little windy,_ she thought as the shuttle jostled. _No wonder he enjoys standing against the wind so much. Not only does it make his rofjinn billow dramatically, but it reminds him of home._

The shuttle dropped them off at the landing pad for the sprawling daar. A series of different family complexes were built into the slope of the mountain, punctuated by assorted outbuildings, graceful foliage and fragrant gardens.

As the climbed the winding terraces towards his family's complex, she couldn’t help but feel a little shy.

“Will they like me?” she asked him.

“They already do,” Jaal reassured her. “You helped retrieve my siblings from the Roekaar.”

“But I didn’t keep you from getting shot.”

“And now they can also appreciate your trust in me.”

“Fair enough.” She followed his lead, consciously avoiding the impulse to hide behind his bulk. She held the memory of Jaal's long-ago advice in her mind like a talisman. _‘Don’t people get hurt?’ ‘Of course they do, and then everyone deals with it.’_

She had rehearsed and agonized over this meeting to a patiently exasperated audience of SAM for hours. The AI's concerned advice could all be boiled down to _‘just be you.'_ _That’s good enough for Jaal, right? That’s all the angara have ever expected of me, shooty ones excluded. Forget everything you know about decorum, Masina,_ she told herself. _It was never that much to start with._

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone shouting Jaal’s name. A woman ran out on the terrace, rushing up to Jaal to embrace him. He caught her up in a massive hug, delighted.

As they separated, a shadow of concern crossed the woman's face. “Wait. Is there bad news?

“No,” Jaal assured her. “The Pathfinder is interested in where I grew up.” He stepped aside, to allow the two women to regard each other. “Ryder, this is my true mother, Sahuna Ama Darav.”

She had kind eyes, like his. Sahuna was obviously not expecting her son to show up with an alien, but there was no hint of rejection on her face.

Impulsively, Masina hugged her. It felt right. “Nice to meet you… I know angara like the hugging,” she explained, a bit awkwardly, as they parted.

Sahuna, though, looked more than pleased. “Jaal’s told me how much he admires you,” she said, delighted.

“Really?” Masina asked, casting a sidelong glance at Jaal. He looked away, bashful. She was just _sure_ he was blushing, though she still couldn’t tell how it displayed.

Sahuna continued “He’s my _favorite_. Smart. Loyal. Kind. A great shot...”

Jaal’s expression morphed from bashful to concerned as her list continued. He coughed, trying to signal Sahuna to stop the deluge of praise.

She saw him, and continued regardless. “Writes poetry. Sews.”

“Mother.”

Sahuna laughed. “I’m late for a resistance meeting.” She clasped their shoulders. “Stay clear.”

As Sahuna left, Masina noticed the long, elegant sniper rifle slung on her back. Masina turned back to Jaal. “Your mother’s in the resistance?”

“Yes,” he said. He leaned in conspiratorially, “And, _every child_ is her favorite.”

***

After a brief tour of the sprawling complex, and a dizzying number of introductions, Jaal led her up and away from the common areas. _Ko-anna, sister. M_ asina rehearsed the names and relationships, trying to memorize at least a few names and faces, _Finn, brother. Etta, cousin. Basil-no, Bavsil, uncle--or was he a cousin too?_ Baranjj had still just called her ‘human,’ but his tone was a little friendlier. The home was was cozy, to say the least. It felt more crowded than it really was, with how much bigger everyone was than her. Lethoul had greeted her warmly, and Teviint had eagerly suggested they offer Ryder some proper food.

A door opened before Jaal. “And this is my room,” he said, leading her inside. “My…tiny sanctuary.”

It was a very Jaal space, to her eye. Windows to the forest outside, a few projects scattered about, collected oddments he found interesting or beautiful. A bin or two of spare parts. It was all a little picked through, as if he had ordered it before leaving, and family had rifled through it in the intervening months for this and that.

“Oh, who put this here?” he said, picking up a box from the bed and sitting to look through it.

She joined him. Inside the box was…parchment? Carefully hand-drawn diagrams, labeled in blocky Shelesh. “Schematics?” she asked.

He nodded. “When I was a child, my aunt stole a kett weapon for me. So I took it apart. To learn.”

He shuffled through the papers. Diagrams of…some sort of anatomy, and pieces of… She tilted her head to get a better view.

“And that is… was.. a karkyn.”

“Pet karkyn,” Jaal said, with a fond rumble. “Alfit. He died, so I took him apart.”

“To learn?”

“Why not?” he shrugged. “We needed the meat. I wasn’t really supposed to be keeping him as a pet anyway, but I can be very persuasive. One last gift, a chance to gain a bit more understanding. I never was able to figure out why he died.”

She realized she was making a face.

“I… don’t usually show people these things.”

She looked closer, to see that the creature had been dissected in a clean and organized way, each part carefully labeled, with care. Given the chaotic nature of angaran education, this had probably been his only opportunity to study how such a creature worked. It was perhaps a bit disconcerting on the surface, but was just another manifestation of his drive to learn, that thirst for knowledge she so admired about him.

“No, I understand,” she assured him. “Resources are scarce. My face was—It’s just... humans, we usually have burials for their pets, like we would for any other member of the family, if it’s possible. There’s lots of stories of humans risking their lives to save a pet, charging back into burning buildings and all that, or giving up their life savings, all their resources, to save it. Even for just an animal. It probably sounds pretty stupid, it’s not at all practical, but we…”

She swallowed, realizing the weight her words might have.

_Oh hell, this is the worst segue in the history of human existence._

Jaal canted his head a degree, attentively waiting for her to continue.

_Dammit. We get our feelings out, then everyone deals with it._

“We… get attached, very easily. Even to those very different than us.”

He carefully set the box aside, turning to face her fully.

“We are not so different, then,” he said.

He took her hands in his. His expression was deeply, intensely open, and just a little fearful.

“Masina… _You_ make my heart _sing_.” He took in a deep breath, gathering himself, and spoke.

“I want us to be together.”

He waited for her answer, his heart in her hands.

Her reply of affirmation was stilled in her throat by the weight of her own affection for him. Her life she would risk without thought, but this was Jaal's heart that would be at risk, and that was worth at least a moment of consideration.

He was so dear to her, more than any friend she had known, or any lover. They had become so close in such a short time. She trusted him, loved every moment she spent with him. To be together with him would be heaven, beyond anything she could have imagined before he came into her life. Oh, she _wanted_ this.

But there was a fear, of failing him, of failing _them._ Every relationship took work, but to be the first to cross the lines between their species? To keep bridging the gaps between them, day by day, against all the criticism that might come from both their peoples. There would be so many possibilities of mistakes, of heartbreak. 

More than anything, she wanted to see him happy, to see his life full of joy. Did she trust herself to give him that?

She decided she did.

“Yeah, I…want that too.”

“Yes!” he exclaimed, taking no pains to hide his joy.

His big hand stroked her hair, caressing her cheek. _Yes,_ she thought, as she leaned into his touch.

“I adore you,” he told her. He bent close, and she rose to meet him.

Their first kiss was soft, exploratory, but far from tentative. The taste of his mouth was astringent to her, unexpected but not unpleasant. Oh, _yes,_ she realized as she deepened the kiss, she could get _quite_ used to this.

And by the reverent look in his eyes when they finally drew apart, he felt exactly the same way. Jaal stumbled over his next few words, as if he was trying not to get lost in her all over again. “Uh, Le-let me show you one more thing you might like,” he said, offering her a hand up off the bed. He _must_ be blushing, she thought, half-addled herself. “Lie down.”

“Uh, okay, sure.”

He stepped away, to a clearly jury-rigged control panel, and—They were inside the stars. A holoprojection. She sat up, twisting around to see it all. “It’s beautiful. You made this?”

“Long ago. It’s not accurate,” he said, setting himself down beside her. “More of a dream, really. Another thing to…take apart, and figure out.” He offered his hand. she took it. “And now, I have someone to do it with.”

She studied the starfield, holding his hand tight as she sat up to look at it more closely, enthusiastic, but anchored to him. She asked him questions about his little constructed universe, the meaning behind all the points and streams of light, and the systems that might live in the spaces between.

“Did you ever imagine if there were people in those stars?” she asked.

Shyly, he admitted he had.

She smiled down at him. “How do I compare?”

“You are…stranger, and far more interesting. And…lovelier than I could have imagined.”

He told her stories of who he’d imagined might live there--the secrets hidden in this nebula, floating cities in the heights of a gas giant, a planet there where it rains diamonds--until their conversation trailed off into enjoying being together, under stars.

***

Jaal sat in the common room, watching his dear new taoshay mingle among his family. They had left his room when Sahuna returned, and Masina and his vaasavaan had spent a great deal of time getting to know each other and whoever else was interested in getting to know the newest satellite member of the family.

He acknowledged in his heart that this evening had been a bit of a test—of his own feelings. If here, in the place that would always feel most strongly as home to him, surrounded by his family, Masina still felt like home, like they belonged together… well, she’d passed.

Undampened emotions filled his field—after so much time among aliens, it was a welcome relief to have his feelings be known without words again. Joy, affection, contentment all rolled from him in waves, and the fields of his family wove their feelings through. Sahuna was delighted, and unshakably supportive, and approval also rolled from Vaasana, Gehana, and many others. Even Teviint had come around, from when they first met and she had threatened Ryder with a rifle, to being a strong supporter of Masina becoming closer to their family, a sister, or at least a cousin. Those two littermates are getting along much better now, their fields back in harmony.

His true mother liked her. He felt confident his father would have as well. A memory rose, from when he was small, asking his father endless questions about how the universe works, sitting on his father's workbench, building the first prototype of what would become his starmap together. They had talked about what had been, before the kett and the scourge, when the angara roamed the stars freely, and what might be out there still that was not darkness and despair. A hopeful man, his father had been. He would have loved her.

His reflections were interrupted by a small commotion on the other side of the room--one of the little ones had snuck out to see the alien— _w_ _ho? Oh, of all the children to be so bold…_ A surprise, and an explanation for the others’ concern: his niece, Aliit. The child bolted away from Masina and out of the room. He went to check on his dear one. The child had lost parents to the kett, perhaps she’d reacted badly to an alien in their midst.

But, just as he reached the human's side, Aliit returned to the common room--with an armful of younger sibling and two more in tow to meet the kind alien. “Okay, now you can tell the story!” the little girl declared.

Jaal settled against one of the nearby couches, delighted, as Masina sat with the children and told them about the adventures of her own childhood.

“...And we were the only human children on the _whole_ Citadel. Everyone around us had such big _teeth_ and sharp claws and _strange_ eyes.” A chorus of gasps came from the children.   
“What do you think you would do?” she asked them.

“I would go in my room and never come out!” One of the littlest ones declared. “And stay there forever-ever until I grew up!”

Masina chuckled. “And my brother and I did exactly that--for the first two weeks,” she told them. “ _Then,_ I got _bored,_ ” she told them, eliciting a host of giggles. “So I went to my brother and said: 'Brother, I’m bored. I want to go out and make friends, even if they’re weird-shaped friends. Come with me.’ ‘But Masina, what if they eat us?’ ‘Then they’ll eat me first, and you can run away and tell mom and dad, and get all my things. Now let’s go.’” The children leaned forward, hanging on her every word. “And we went out, and met other children, and they were so strange. But they knew how to play, and so did we. And we started making friends, and I’ve never really stopped. And nobody even ate me.” The children dissolved into delighted giggles.

A few chuckles rose from the adults listening as well. She had made a slightly sexual joke, though he was sure she didn't realize it. _Oops?_ But the children' didn't seem to care. _She’s enchanted them,_ he thought. She belonged here, he was sure, among them as family.

“She’s so little,” his sister Koana commented to him. “Bet she doesn’t need much food.”

“Mm. I need two or three times…less.” He grinned at Koana’s double take.

“We can’t all eat sunlight.” Ryder piped in, startling his sister with her uncanny hearing. “I’m a biotic,” she explained, “which means I need to eat about twice as much as your average human. Space magic doesn’t come free, you know.” She quickly reassured Sahuna that she had brought some spare food. She would never expect to get more than everybody else.

Aliit and her siblings clamored for her attention—they wanted to see ‘space magic.’ She gave Jaal a questioning look, and he nodded.

“Okay, kids. But to show you, I'll need something small and light. Can you--” Someone quickly handed her an eating utensil, what she would recognize as a sort of spoon. He saw the shadow of concern on her face, and remembered one of her battle stories from her time before Andromeda, defending scientists under her charge from pirates, killing a man with biotics and thrown cutlery. Surely she was remembering the same, and was concerned by the implications. But this was different. He sent her reassurance in every line of his expression.

He felt the build of tightly controlled charge in her amps, delicate and coiled. The others wouldn’t know the difference, but he could sense the care she was taking to use only a whisper of her strength to lift the spoon between her hands. The children gave the spoon a few pokes, giggling at the way the field tingled, before she let the energy fade and dropped the spoon into her waiting hands.

One of the children looked up at her with big, wide eyes, and asked, “Are you magic?”

“Maybe,” she answered. “But the only humans that can throw electricity from their hands are wizards from stories—so maybe you're magic too.” The child examined their own hands at her words, delighted.

 _This,_ he reflected as he watched them together, _this is the Archon’s chosen rival. This gentle woman, sitting on the floor of our family’s common room, entertaining children. Where they invade by force and are forever rejected, she is invited in and welcomed to return. Her enemies are right to fear her, this gentle one._

As the evening went on, the children eventually asked her about her hair, and with a single movement she unbound it in order to show them. He felt the change around the room, as others were affected by her strange beauty. A flicker of concern passed through him, then was quickly reassured. She _wanted_ to be with him. When a human tells you they want something…

She flipped her hair around, letting the children examine the cascade. “Why do you keep it tied up like that?” one of the children asked, carefully patting the strands.

“I bind it up when I'm traveling, or when I'm fighting, so it doesn't get in my way. Here. I'll show you.” She stood, letting the full length of her hair be displayed. “So,” she said, turning away from the children to face Jaal as she spoke, “if you're walking somewhere unsafe with your hair unbound, and someone surprises you—What's that!” she cried, spinning around dramatically to face the children, her hair spinning with the inertia to slap her soundly across the face, eliciting another mighty round of giggles. And, he noticed, she made no move to bind her hair back up again as the evening went on. She shows us all how secure she feels among us as well. 

Several family members came near, engaging Jaal in side conversations, asking questions. Masina occasionally added a comment here and there. Mother Gehana wondered—rather rhetorically in her intent—how the human's hearing could possibly work. Masina explained that it was a complicated assembly: an eardrum membrane, three bones, and spiral full of jelly and nerve hairs.

“How do you know all that?” one of his younger brothers, Finn, asked.

Masina explained to them that, because she grew up away from war, her childhood wasn't about field-stripping guns and ferrying supplies and lookout shifts. “The only job of a child in my home society was to learn. For the first two decades of life, more or less. So we get to know a lot.”

“You must have had quite a teacher,” Gehana said, impressed.

“I had many,” she explained. “In one year of university, I studied under eight experts of their respective fields.”

Gruff uncle Enoh asked if she thought them all foolish in comparison. She explained that she absolutely didn't—She understood how fortunate she was. “And, I hope, the angara will have their own universities someday soon, for those who love learning and sharing knowledge,” she finished, giving Jaal a look of affection so strong it belied her lack of field completely.

The shuttle would be arriving soon, to return them to Pelaav. A long series of goodbyes were said, to both of them.

A giggling pile of children clung to Masina's legs in a farewell-embrace-turned-ambush her shorter limbs could not step out of. She turned to him with a rueful expression, mirth in her eyes. “Oh no! I am defeated! Who could possibly free me from such powerful assailants!”

Laughing, he lifted her out from their trap, ‘rescuing’ her, to the disappointment of her tiny captors.

“Now, Uncle Jaal, you must bring her back to see us again.” Aliit demanded, doing her best little mother impression.

He hesitated, his old uncertainty rising again. What could he tell the girl, when he was unsure himself how long he might hold the attentions of the Pathfinder?

“Oh, we'll be back, whenever we can,” Masina said, her promise answering two questions at once.

***

They waited together for the shuttle to arrive.

“Thank you, for coming to visit my family with me. I had feared they might be…overwhelming, for you, but you didn’t show it at all.”

“No, they're wonderful,” she assured him. “And it’s not…that alien, to come together like this, in my family. Not every day, but we’ll live like this for celebrations. It’s…nice.” She paused, leaning close to him, and took his hand in hers. “This trip has been perfect, better than I could have hoped.”

He stared at her a moment, taking her in, his heart wondering, afraid, excited.

“That you traveled six hundred years, from another galaxy, to be here, with me. I am… amazed, and humbled.”

“Well,” she smiled, “I think you were worth the wait.”

He ducked his head, another blush running through his field at her praises.

“Hey.” She came closer, clasping both her hands in his. “Can I kiss you again?”

“I suppose so,” he answered. He sank into her warm kiss, the breeze whispering her hair across his mantle. He loved and was loved by this sublime being who had chosen him.

And in this moment, he felt his heart would sing forever.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Act II.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading!   
> I have a draft of a third and final act in the works, but life has been busy and I cannot guarantee any sort of posting goal. I hope you have enjoyed the story so far!


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